She's Armed, He's Dangerous
by Shena1
Summary: What didn't we see? ... A series of filler scenes - one chapter per episode for Season 2. Sticking to the canon ... absolutely no AU ... So that means you're in for humour, angst, romance, teasing, sexual frustration, hurt, comfort, drama, inner-torment, imagined contact, and probably a bunch of unspoken swearing from Beckett.
1. Deep in Death

**What ****_didn't_**** we see in Season 2?!**

**This fic is planned to be a series of filler scenes - one chapter per episode for Season 2. **

**Sticking to the canon ... absolutely no AU ... so that means you're in for humour, angst, romance, teasing, hurt, comfort, drama, inner-torment, and probably a bunch of unspoken swearing from Beckett.**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

She grips her cell tightly as it presses against her ear, listening to silence on the other end of the line. Waiting for some advice, some words of commiseration… something. Anything to ease the uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach.

"It might not be that bad…" Lanie offers.

"Lanie, I haven't spoken to him in months!"

"It's only one day, Kate," the M.E. asserts. "You hunt murderers for a living. You can handle this."

Beckett clamps her teeth down as she presses her lips together. Hard. "Yeah…" she sighs heavily into the receiver, not entirely convinced by her own admission.

She throws her phone on to the coffee table as she flops back against the couch cushions. Tilting her head back, she buries her face within her palms, breathing extremely slowly and excruciatingly deeply.

Tomorrow.

This is _so _not going to be fun.

* * *

**EPISODE 1 - "DEEP IN DEATH"**

Bastard.

Jerk.

Ass.

There are so many more colourful terms she could use to characterize the arrogant son of a bitch. First he digs into her mother's case when she _implicitly_ told him not to. Then she had to sit there while the half-naked stripper twins had been grinding up against him in the middle of the bullpen!

As if little Miss Cosmo hasn't been enough of an irritant - asking ridiculously vapid questions about being a muse... Castle... life as a female cop... Castle… how civilian consultants are crucial to the success of the NYPD… Castle…

And he has the gall to think she even wants him around?

Obnoxious prick.

She stares straight ahead, focused on navigating the insanity of the evening Manhattan traffic as she makes her way to the crime scene, foot increasing its pressure on the gas pedal. The persistent illumination of the brake lights from the taxi in front of her only intensifies her irritation, her hands gripping the steering wheel with even more fervor as she grits her teeth.

Montgomery might call the shots in the precinct, but out here… this is her area of expertise. She is the queen… and Castle? He's nothing. Nothing but a court jester.

She neither needs him nor wants him.

Making a sharp turn to round the corner, she pulls up alongside the police blockade, tires squealing as she slams her foot against the brakes. Exhaling heavily as she slaps the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, Beckett steels her resolve before exiting her vehicle. She might be taking out her frustrations on her cruiser, but there is no way in hell she is going to let him see her like this. This wound up.

She was serious when she told him she doesn't care. And she doesn't. About this ludicrous article. About his stupid little book. About him.

And by the end of this evening, he's going to know it.

Of that, she is certain.

She watches Esposito's cruiser ride up beside her as she slams her car door. She nonchalantly heads towards the illuminated tree, removing a pair of latex gloves from her pocket, as the exasperating jackass rushes to catch up to her.

"Hey, can we talk about this, please?"

"There's nothing to talk about," she replies flatly.

"Well, just at least let me know what I can do to make it up to you," Castle pleads.

"You could leave me alone," she hints frustratingly.

"Yes, well, I tried that, and it didn't work," he muses. "Hey, I could buy you a pony!"

Asshole.

* * *

_The Morgue Mobile_? What a pretentious jerk. As if his hubris isn't enough, now he's trying to impress the flighty reporter with ridiculous terminology. How anyone can find him charming is beyond her.

After finishing interviewing various building residents and the business employees, Beckett focuses on her notes as she returns to her car. Nobody seems to have noticed anything suspicious, but she makes a mental note to consult with the boys once they're back at the precinct. Maybe even get some uniforms to start a canvass.

The moment she opens her driver-side door, however, her thoughts are interrupted by a familiar ring tone.

"Hey Lanie," the detective greets her friend with a smirk, sarcasm oozing from her throat. "You killed Castle yet?"

"Just about…" the M.E. remarks, grabbing Beckett's attention. "We were attacked."

Beckett does a double take as she processes what she just heard. "What?!"

"Someone hit the van… stole the body."

"Did you say _'stole the body'_?"

"Yeah… guys in masks. With assault rifles."

Beckett swallows, pausing briefly before continuing. "Are you guys-"

"We're all okay," Lanie assures her, cutting her off. "...even Castle." Beckett rolls her eyes, but she can't ignore the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. Concern? Apprehension?

No… no way.

Not for that arrogant schmuck.

Beckett shakes the thought from her mind as she refocuses on the phone call. "You guys okay to return to the precinct, or do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Precinct's fine… gotta give our statements to the traffic cops first… and there's a couple of reporters here already that need to be dealt with," Lanie remarks. "I think Cosmo Girl tweeted about the accident…"

"Anything for a story, huh?" Beckett rolls her eyes, sighing indignantly. "I'll call Castle's family to let them know he's alright," she relents flatly. "But _don't_ tell him I did that!"

"He won't hear it from me."

Beckett nods slightly, the knot in her gut tightening. "Thanks..."

"Mmhmmm…"

* * *

She takes a look at the espresso machine, hesitating momentarily, tempted by the deliciousness of the premiere brew that it creates.

But accepting his coffee would mean accepting him. Accepting what he did. And what message would that send? That she's welcoming him back with open arms?

Yeah, right!

Grabbing a regular coffee mug from the cupboard, Beckett fills it with the sludge the precinct dares to label as coffee. It might taste like a monkey peed in battery acid, but at least it belongs to her…

_Monkey peed in battery acid? _Good lord… can't she even drink regular coffee without thoughts of _him_ infiltrating her mind? She exhales quickly and heavily through her mouth as she watches the insipid female reporter head for the elevator after having spoken to Ryan… Castle still being examined by Lanie.

She smirks happily as she watches the sassy M.E. flick Castle's cheek with her slender finger. '_Thank you, Doctor Parish_,' she muses with a sense of earnest gratification as Castle rubs the sting from his flesh. She takes a sip of the hot liquid, forcing herself to swallow the god-awful muck before making her way towards the group.

Getting within earshot, she realizes that Castle is just spinning more of his ridiculous and puerile theories.

"...organ harvesters, cadaver-less med students, Satanists, mad scientists looking to create their own monster."

"Or the guys who killed him might have left some evidence behind," she counters as she approaches from behind.

He considers reason for only a split-second. "Boring."

This guy is such an impertinent child.

* * *

She knows he wants to say something… the way he keeps shifting, looking over at her from the passenger seat, as if he is uncomfortable in his own skin.

_'Good_,' she thinks to herself. '_Body language seems to speak louder than words.'_

He'd remained quiet during the entire elevator ride after leaving Sandy Allen's apartment. Who knew that simply taking two steps away from that muscular body could be so effective.

Wait… _muscular?!_ She catches herself mid-thought, wide-eyed. She was _not_ thinking about his body._ She wasn't! _She shakes her head slightly as if erasing that visual from her mind is as easy as erasing a picture from an etch-a-sketch.

She chances a quick side-glance out of the corner of her eye, sees him rake his fingers through his hair like he does when he's frustrated... his soft, silky, perfectly coiffed hair that flops ever so slightly across his forehead like-

_Stop it! _Beckett catches herself again.

That's it. He has to get out of the car. Away from her. Now.

"I'll drop you off at home," she mutters, eyes staring straight ahead.

"What?" he whines. "But what about-"

"It's late," she interjects flatly. "I'm tired. That's it for tonight."

Castle pauses a moment, throwing her a sideways glance before he dares to speak again.

"You'll call me before you interview Maxwell Haverstock, right?"

Beckett doesn't reply, eyes fixed, face stoic.

She pulls up to his building, hitting the brakes with unnecessary force so that his body jerks forward - not enough to give him whiplash, but enough to shake him thoroughly. She represses a satisfied smirk as he cringes a bit, stepping out of her Crown Victoria.

"Fine," she mutters just before he shuts the door.

Standing on the sidewalk, watching her car speed away, a smug grin tugs at the edge of Castle's mouth before he pivots and greets his doorman.

* * *

So… John Allen was a drug mule who was in over his head. Beckett shakes her head as she continues sifting through department records about known Russian mafia members.

A guy in over his head… like a certain mystery writer she knows.

The idiot.

She doesn't know who he thinks he knows, but if he is under the impression that he can figure out where those floating poker games are being held because he's got "connections", she's got to start investigating who he hangs out with.

She scans through the information on her computer monitor, the dim light of her desk lamp casting an ethereal glow across her face - the soft illumination a physical juxtaposition of her current emotional turmoil.

Her momentary trance is shattered by the unexpected vibrating of her cell phone. She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, bracing herself for the inevitable. Forcing one eye open, she glances at the name that is displayed across the screen.

Ughh.

"Beckett," she answers, pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, wincing as she pictures his cocky face on the other end of the line.

"Guess who's got a date at a poker game?" he practically sings.

Yeah. That exasperating, sing-songy tone?... it's getting old.

* * *

She watches in silence as the boys get him hooked up for the operation. They go over the plan one more time, but none of this sits well with her. Not at all.

"I'll be fine," the writer scoffs. "Besides, it's Chinatown. How many Russian poker players can there be?"

She cringes as he hops out of the van, carefree, like a young child playing hopscotch. Esposito tosses his coat in his face, but she can't bring herself to crack a smile. Not right now.

Because right now, she can't seem to repress the gnawing sensation swirling in the base of her gut. Sending Castle in… alone… The thought is making her more than queasy.

And the fact that he seems to think this is a game?...

She's going to kill him if he makes it out of there alive.

"Ryan?... do you mind?" she mutters, not even bothering to finish her statement.

The Irish detective silently acquiesces her request, switching spots with her to give her a better view of the video feed. Eyes locked on the button-cam images flashing on the TV monitor, she gently chews on her thumb.

Pulling her knee tightly to her chest, she can't help but voice her unease. "Anybody else have a bad feeling about this?"

She nods as the boys don't even hesitate to raise their hands. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

* * *

_"...I'm going to go sit at the table, see if I can find anything out."_

She wasn't entirely attentive to his inane ramblings until just now. "What did he say?" Her eyes widen as she glares at the monitor. Suddenly, he's got her complete attention.

"He just said he's taking a seat…" Ryan attempts to recap before Beckett cuts him off, unimpressed.

"That's not the plan. That's not the plan, Castle!"

Yeah… she's _definitely _gonna kill him if he makes it out of their alive.

* * *

Her stomach continues to churn as she watches the scene play out. Castle making small talk with the mobsters, boasting about his books, practically giving away every single detail about her case.

They're laughing at him… planning to take him for everything he's got. And she knows that it doesn't end with money. Not with the Russian mafia. He's in way too deep.

And now they know that their murderer is sitting right across from him.

Esposito speaks up first. "Hey, if he thinks Castle's a threat, he's…"

She doesn't have time to panic. "We gotta get him out of there, now."

She needs to improvise… and she has an idea.

* * *

Ryan and Espo watch the video feed helplessly, staring down the barrel of a gun… a gun pointed straight at Castle's chest.

_"Who are you?" _ a deep Russian voice echoes followed by the panicked voice of a certain author who believes himself to be James Bond. _ "I told you, I'm- I'm a novelist."_

"Dude," Ryan whispers, eyes locked on the screen, but seeing nothing, "what the hell is taking her so long?"

"I dunno, Bro," the Latino cringes, listening to the writer protest his innocence, "but she'd better show up soon or-"

Suddenly a familiar female voice echoes in their ears._ "Him, a cop? Don't make me laugh. He's barely even a man."_

"God, that Russian accent is hot," Espo mutters under his breath.

"Dude!"

Esposito shoots a slightly indignant and perturbed look at his partner. "What? It _is_!"

Ryan simply shakes his head, continuing to watch the monitor as he listens intently to the exchange, their suspect now in full view of the camera, gun still pointed at Castle's chest.

_"Okay. Boys and their guns,"_ a Russian Beckett scoffs._ "Am I supposed to be impressed?"_

"You can't tell me you don't find that hot," Esposito continues. "I mean-"

_"WHOA!"_ the two detectives suddenly clamor in unison as flashes of Beckett fill the monitor as she slams her fist into the Russian's face.

"Dude!" Ryan exclaims, rapt by the video feed. "She totally broke his nose!"

"So hot…" the Latino mumbles.

"You are _so_ gonna be single the rest of your life," Ryan sighs, shooting his partner an unimpressed glare.

_"Castle, could you get some backup, please?" _Beckett's voice echoes in their ears.

"And that's our cue…" Ryan yanks the headset from his ear as Esposito cocks his pistol.

"Let's go," the Latino nods in all seriousness as the two detectives hastily exit the van.

* * *

Red.

Good lord, her bra was red. Blood red.

And that accent. Oh My. God. Could she be any sexier?

Thoughts of her perfect ass infiltrate Castle's mind as he weaves through the crowd in the main room. He can't seem to stay focused, visions of her tantalizing form filling his brain. So delicious...right there. Right in front of him. Taunting him. Teasing him. Testing him.

He had been so tempted to grab her… push her up against the door… rip that black sweater from her body… tangle her hair - her sexy, tousled, satiny hair - in his fingers… nibble his way down her neck, across her clavicle, between her breasts. Her perfect, luscious breasts.

He passes by the bar, making his way to the door. He can't breathe. It's too hot. He needs air.

Now.

Desperately throwing himself at the door, he tumbles on to the steps, practically falling into the laps of Ryan and Esposito.

"Where is she?!" Espo demands, grabbing Castle by the collar to ensure his attention.

"K-Kitchen," the writer stutters, pointing behind him as he inhales the cold, night air. "Kitchen."

The two detectives barrel through the door leaving Castle alone on the balcony, breathing laboured, surrounded by the overpowering scent of peanut oil and chicken wings as he desperately tries to regain his composure. Calm his body.

He's always found her attractive, that's no secret.

Sex… Sex and nothing more. That's all he wants from her.

...isn't it?

Well… definitely a source of literary inspiration. Friendship, maybe.

But the way she breathed his name into his ear, rolled the Rs when she uttered _'Richard'_, wrapped her hands over his shoulders, pulled him tight against her lithe body...

It suddenly feels like more.

And he didn't expect that.

And he has no clue know how to handle it.

* * *

He hadn't even protested as he walked away. Left the precinct. Walked out of her life forever.

At least he finally figured it out.

_"Sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons." _ That's what he'd said. Empty words.

What an arrogant, conceited, selfish asshole.

How can he honestly think that dragging her back into that rabbit hole is something she wants to do? She'd spent so long, worked so hard to put it behind her.

And then he goes and opens Pandora's Box.

And for what? So he can be a hero? So he can have more fodder for his novels?

What does he think she'd do? Throw him a parade? Sell her first-born child to thank him?

And then more platitudes poured from his lips. _"And you won't have to do it alone. We can do it together."_

Together. That's a laugh. What the hell does he know of doing anything _with _anyone. He just always does whatever the hell he wants without thinking of anyone other than himself.

Pompous bastard.

_"It's because you're afraid, isn't it?"_ His voice continues to echo through her mind, as if a broken record stuck on repeat.

_"...afraid...afraid...afraid...afraid…"_

What the hell does he know of fear? There with his millions, airheaded bimbos and celebutants throwing themselves at him, making money by making up pulp. He has no clue what it's like to live in the real world! To have hopes and dreams and ambitions... and then watch your life crumble into nothing!

She will _not_ let him make a mockery of her life… _of her!_

Her fingers whack the keyboard with such brute force that she almost breaks the Enter key.

She stops typing and leans back into her steno chair, closing her eyes, bringing her hands together to rest along her forehead - elbows extended beside her head - as she releases a long, belaboured exhale. The poor keyboard shouldn't have to bear the brunt of his unapologetic stupidity. She'd never hear the end of it from the I.T. guys.

Pencil and paper. Perhaps that would be the safest option for now. Pencils are cheaper to replace if she snaps one, and no chance of ink spilling on her clothes…

She loses herself - hides - in her paperwork, trying desperately to block out all thoughts of _him._ Minutes… hours tick by. Slowly, the bullpen clears out, the lights dimming, only a few uniforms working the night shift wandering the halls.

She goes over her case report for the seventh time, adding a few words, changing some phrasing, making it perfect… when her paper is suddenly cast in shadow. She doesn't even need to look up to know it's _him_.

Wow. He's got some nerve… coming back. Just standing there. Watching her do paper work. Not saying anything. And it's unsettling to say the least. But not quite creepy this time…

She debates looking up, torn - but after a brief moment of meditation, she steels herself. Tearing her eyes from her desk, she glances up at him, her hazel eyes cold and unfeeling - and she's slightly taken aback by what she sees.

Frailty. Honesty. Sincerity. It's written all over his face, his posture, in the depth of his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he utters, his words serious and genuine. "What I did was wrong. I violated your trust, I opened old wounds, and I did not respect your wishes. And if we're not gonna see each other again, then you deserve to know… I'm very, very sorry."

With that, Castle turns and begins to leave. She says nothing, words caught in her throat as she processes his earnest apology.

Just as he is about to exit the bullpen, she finds her voice. "Castle."

He stops in his tracks, turning around to face her, her eyes fixed on the paper on her desk.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Maybe he's not a complete bastard after all.

* * *

xxxxxxx

**So, as I said, my goal is to write a chapter of filler scenes for each episode of S2...**

**Not sure how quick this will happen, but I never abandon a fic. )**

**However, if it's been done already, someone ****_please_**** tell me so that I don't waste my time writing what someone else has already explored (...and then send me the link so I can read it!)**

xxxxxxx

**Thanks to Syzygy for being my sounding board… again. :)**

xxxxxxx

**And, as always, I love to know your thoughts.**

**Judge away. :D**


	2. The Double Down

**Typos are mine and mine alone.**

**If you find any, feel free to adopt them - everything deserves some love. Even typos. :)**

* * *

**EPISODE 2 - "THE DOUBLE DOWN"**

"Castle, I didn't call you…" Beckett states flatly, completely focused on her work as the writer strides towards her desk. "Why're you here?"

"Seriously, Beckett?" he remarks indignantly. "Full moon, police station… that's just a good time waiting to happen!"

She furrows her brow as she shoots him an unimpressed glare. Dork.

"You want entertainment, Castle? Try the Angelica…" she retorts, returning her attention to her paperwork. "They serve popcorn."

"Already got it covered," he smirks gleefully.

She quickly looks up only to watch him head towards the break room, an excited spring in his step. _'He didn't...'_

Watching him remove a packet of microwave popcorn from inside his jacket, she can't help but roll her eyes and shake her head before returning her focus to the stack of case files on her desk. _'Of course he did...'_

Not five minutes later, two uniforms step out of the elevator while attempting to restrain a man… a shirtless hippie wearing nothing but khakis and a cape who's raving like a lunatic and thrashing around wildly.

She chances a glance at Castle who is approaching her desk carrying a full bowl of popcorn, a stupidly huge grin adorning his face as he watches the officers struggle to control the maniac. _'Let the fun begin.'_

* * *

Beckett grips the steering wheel firmly, releasing a long, deep exhale through her nose as Castle continues to rant incessantly about vocabulary and grammar...

"I mean, really? Who screws up '_you're' _and '_your'__? _It's as bad as using the wrong '_there_'!"

"Castle-" she breathes.

He doesn't even pause, completely rapt in his own thought process. "Especially when you write it on the face of the person you just killed! What kind of a message does that send? _'Hello, I am a killer, but I am sloppy. I should be easy to catch. Come get me!_"

"Castle-" she tries again a bit more forcefully, but to no avail.

"Seriously, Beckett!" he shifts in his seat while waving his hand dramatically, not even heeding her interruption. "If you're going to leave a message after murdering someone, wouldn't you think that ensuring the message is grammatically correct would be of utmost importance? I mean-"

"_CASTLE_!"

His mouth shuts as she shoots him a death-stare. "You keep going with this little monologue and _I _will be writing a message on _your _dead body!"

"What part of my body?" he teases, eyebrows waggling mischievously.

She releases an elongated breath, returning her attention to the road, before muttering, "Wouldn't you like to know..."

* * *

"Beckett, I'm serious," he pleads as he steps out of the elevator, trying to keep up as she bolts ahead of him towards the bullpen. "Proper grammar is important."

She sits down quickly and pulls open the left drawer of her desk, hastily shuffling through some files... lifting a pad of paper... moving her little stick man to the side as she checks the very back of the drawer. Her head is pounding, and if she doesn't pop a Tylenol soon, she won't be held accountable for her actions.

Nothing in her desk. Crap.

"It's a lost art," he continues, not even missing a beat. "Too many people take it for granted. They just trust their computers to correct their mistakes. How sad is that?"

She buries her face in her hands, elbows propped on the edge of her desk as she mumbles, "Are you still talking?"

As he continues to natter away, his voice echoing loudly in the depths of her mind, she starts to wonder who she pissed off to get saddled with this infuriating man-child. What has the Universe got against her? What did she ever do to deserve such torture?

"It's not like you're just leaving yourself a note, you know, to buy bread on the way home," he persists as she attempts to massage the throbbing pain from her brain using her fingertips. Good lord, something… _make him stop_!

But he keeps going. "You're writing on a person you just murdered. You're trying to make a point. A point you care a great deal about, presumably, because you just killed someone to make it. So how do you not make sure that you're using the proper language to make that point?"

She's seriously wondering whether or not shooting him would be justifiable homicide when Ryan and Esposito enter just in time to save Castle from certain death.

"Frank Anderson, retired middle-school math teacher from IS 161," the Irish detective remarks, brandishing his notepad. "You want in?"

"Uh, no, thanks," she replies, holding up her ringing cell phone. "Full up."

She uses the welcome interruption to escape Castle's inane English lecture, leaving her desk to take the call.

"Hey Lanie…" she huffs.

"Hey... Is this a bad time?"

"No… No," the detective sighs. "Actually, you may have just stopped me from committing murder."

"Castle?"

"Castle," she sighs, glancing over at the writer who is now chatting with the boys.

"Girl, you should just kiss that man!..."

"Lanie!"

"...unless you particularly enjoy this sexual frustration."

Redirecting the conversation as she pinches the bridge of her nose, Beckett pointedly remarks, "You called for something?"

"Yes… just finished my prelim on the vic…" Lanie begins, but Beckett's mind is elsewhere. She wants to kill the guy. Rip his tongue out of his mouth and shove it where the sun don't shine. That's not really indicative of her wanting… well… _him_… is it?

She shakes the thought from her head as she attempts to concentrate on the phone call.

Murder. Case. Killer. Focus.

* * *

"Did you seriously have to spit on your hand, Bro?!"

Ryan sighs heavily as he opens up another computer file. "I- I got caught up in the moment," the Irish detective offers. "I'm sorry… for the twentieth time."

Esposito just releases a laboured breath as he keeps his back to his partner, pouring over Frank Anderson's phone records. "Whatever you say… Honeymilk."

Ryan just shakes his head at the remark, but bites his tongue. He's not going to win this one and he knows it.

The two detectives sit back to back in silence for a while longer before Esposito swivels his chair to face Ryan. "You know…" he begins, leaving a pregnant pause so that his partner becomes intrigued enough to turn as well. "Castle was awfully quick to agree to that bet…" he muses.

"He was indeed…" Ryan agrees with a mischievous tone. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we're a lock to win this bet…" the Latino smirks, narrowing his eyes, "so why not up the ante?"

"More money?"

"Nah…" Esposito ruminates, a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I got a better idea…"

* * *

Alone in the bullpen... again... Beckett leans back in her steno chair, arms crossed against her chest as she purses her lips and stares hypnotically at her computer screen. The lights in the bullpen have been dimmed for the evening, the soft light from the bright moon washing through the window in the conference room.

She's trying to stay focused on the case, but she can't get his voice out of her head. His deep, husky voice speaking words that spilled from his luscious, velvety lips… lips that she would love to ki-

_WHOA!_ Where did that come from?

She quickly shakes her head clear of such intrusive and unwelcome thoughts as she glances at her watch.

10:43pm.

She releases a deep sigh, looking around the dark and vacant precinct. She should really head home… get some rest. Evidently she needs it if she's starting to allow such disagreeable thoughts to eke into her mind.

Yeah. Sleep. A few hours of sleep will fix everything.

* * *

Even though she's hiding it very well, Beckett starts to feel a bit of the morning fatigue after speaking to Brandy Rossi, especially when Karpowski confirms that her alibi is solid. But coffee can fix that pretty quick. She heads straight to the breakroom, by-passing the boys as they vacate the area after speaking to their victim's family.

She grabs an NYPD mug off the counter. Ah coffee… caffeinated happiness in a mug. She can't help but whistle to herself as the liquid flows from the carafe into the mug. Putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate, she peers through the window, observing Castle talking with Ryan and Esposito. About their case, she supposes, though she has no idea what he would find so interesting about an ordinary pop-and-drop.

Not that it matters.

If he wants to annoy the boys, more power to him. Why should she care?

But he does look very happy about something… and this alone is enough to cause her concern.

As she heads back towards her desk, she can't help but roll her eyes as the writer starts to dance awkwardly. She can't quite make out what he's singing about, but she doesn't have a chance to find out as he practically runs her over, mouth gaping as he stares at her from only inches away.

"Hey," he remarks, his hands dropping hastily.

"Hey."

"I was just... Uh, they were... There was two…" he stammers.

She eyes him suspiciously. "Yeah."

He's guilty as hell about something.

* * *

Castle can't believe what he's hearing. Are these guys for real? Trying to call his bluff? Him? A champion poker player? As if.

No way he's worried. They want to up the ante… bring it.

"Not money," Esposito taunts, crowding Castle's personal space. "Humiliation. Loser wears a dress to the precinct for a week."

Castle's ridden a horse through Central Park in the nude. A dress is nothing.

"Why stop there?" Ryan adds, getting in the writer's face. "Loser also shaves his head. Or are you chicken?"

The insinuation causes Castle to pause for a moment as he looks over his shoulder at Beckett. His hair. His lovely, silky, impeccable hair…

Is he really willing to put his hair on the line... _for her_?

Yeah… he is. Because she's extraordinary.

"You're on, Honeymilk," he snaps, staring down the Irish detective before quickly leaving the boys, returning to the bullpen.

Okay…_ now _this is serious. Now his hair is on the line. Is perfectly styled, soft, sexy hair. Not good. Not good at all.

"Is Evan Hinkle here yet?" the author asks, the words rapidly pouring from his mouth as he rushes to meet Beckett at her desk.

"Uh… yeah," she replies, cocking her head curiously, "Uniforms just brought him in about a minute ago."

He doesn't even pause as he pivots, hastily making his way towards Interrogation. "What're we waiting for then?"

Beckett raises an eyebrow inquisitively as she watches him speed across the bullpen.

Yeah… he's _so _up to something.

* * *

She watches Castle head towards the breakroom as she turns her attention to the whiteboard. She tries to muddle over Jason Cosway's involvement in his wife's murder, but she can't shake thoughts of Castle's behaviour from her mind.

The impatient questioning of Hal Ross.

Closing the elevator doors in Ryan and Esposito's faces.

Going all super-cop during Evan Hinkle's interrogation.

And then of course there's everyone else. Conversations halting when she approaches. Her co-workers suddenly watching her every move. Stegner's uncomfortable stuttering.

It's like there's a joke that the entire precinct is in on except for her… but that's about to change. Right now.

Her eyes narrow as she glances over at the breakroom, watching Castle take cash from a couple of detectives. _What the fuck?..._

"Son of a…"

He's a dead man!

* * *

"Dude! I can't believe she found out about the bet!"

"Just be glad she didn't shoot us, Bro."

"So… uh… do you think the bet is still on?" Ryan mutters, looking up from his desk.

"Dunno… why," Esposito mumbles as he clicks his mouse.

"Cuz Beckett just escorted Jason Cosway into Interrogation One," Ryan notes as he watches Castle close the door, the writer wiggling his eyebrows as he shoots the detectives a cocky grin.

The boys glance at each other quickly, frozen and wide-eyed, before scrambling out of their chairs, rushing into the observation room.

Beckett's hardened voice echoes through the speaker. _"You wanna tell us about last Friday?"_

"She looks like she's gonna rip his head off," Ryan mutters to himself, watching Beckett lean heavily into the table.

Esposito folds his arms across his chest. "Better him than us…"

"And what's with Castle? He looks so calm?"

"Dunno…" the Latino remarks curiously. "I haven't seen him take notes during an interrogation since last year."

As if he could hear them, Castle then presses his note pad against the two-way mirror, his short note letting them in on his little secret. Beckett's got a hundred dollars wagered. They're toast.

"How does he even know we're watching?" Ryan queries as he reads the message that Beckett is now in on the bet.

"Ah. No wonder she's going after him so hard," Espo muses.

"Shit…" Ryan mumbles as he runs his palm across his scalp. "I like my hair."

"You're worried about your _hair_, Bro? What about the _dress_?"

"Crap."

_"The only thing I remember is the fact that we were sitting there right behind the home bench," _Cosway asserts, not wavering on his alibi in the least.

"You ever have seats like that?" Ryan scoffs as he watches the interrogation unfold.

"Yeah, right," Espo laughs in response.

Suddenly Ryan looks over at his partner, Esposito realizing the exact same thing, and the two rush to the breakroom.

"If we can't solve our case just yet-" Ryan starts, picking up the remote.

"Let's poke a hole in theirs," Esposito continues, grabbing a couple bags of chips from the cupboard.

"I am _so_ not shaving my head…" Ryan mutters as he turns on the TV.

* * *

Esposito's smug voice echoes through Castle's head as he rides up the elevator. _"Castle, what size dress do you wear? Six? Eight?... Sixteen?"_

How the heck did this happen? He was so sure they'd win the bet. He was so sure of _her_!

What the hell went wrong?

He releases a deep breath as he slides his key in the lock. Before turning it, a most disturbing thought enters his brain. Is he going to have to shave his legs too? Oh god.

He'll never get laid again if this gets out.

He closes his eyes as he rubs his palm against his face, covering his mouth and nose. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

He releases a long, heavy breath before turning his key agonizingly slowly. Cracking the door open, he spies around the edge, sweeping a brief glance through the living space. The coast is clear. Nobody's home. Entering the loft, Castle heads straight for the kitchen. He needs a drink. A stiff one.

His mind in a haze, he suddenly stops in his tracks, attention drawn by a pile of blue, green and white material draped across the back of a chair.

_'Maybe I can pull this off...'_ he ponders to himself, picking up Martha's dry-cleaned dress.

Looking at his reflection in the wine fridge as he holds the dress against his torso, he contemplates the vision of himself in drag, mesmerized by the frighteningly unmanly vision staring back at him. He's so entranced that he's startled by his daughter's voice behind him.

"Dad?"

Launching the dress to the floor, he pivots quickly. "Mm-hmm. Yes. You okay?"

Taken aback momentarily, Alexis thinks about asking about the dress… but decides not to bother. This is Rick Castle. The man who rides police horses in the nude and dresses up like a space-cowboy for fun. This is just another day in the life at _Chez Castle_.

And at this moment, he is _so_ thankful of that.

* * *

Isn't this an interesting twist. Their cases are connected. Even Castle didn't see this coming...

As the three detectives and the author head out of the precinct to hunt down Wesley Grovner, Castle dares to ask the question that's at the back of all their minds.

"Now that we're all working the same case, does that mean the bet's off?"

"Hell, yeah," Esposito affirms without missing a beat.

Castle releases a light sigh of relief as he unconsciously runs his fingers through his hair. Esposito rolls his eyes as he catches Ryan doing the same.

* * *

So the bet is back on… and Jason Cosway just sits there, cocky smile on his face, as smug as can be. And he won't break.

As the pompous suspect meets Beckett's intense glare, Castle wonders just how long she'd be willing to sit there and wait for him to crack.

The three sit in silence for a few more minutes - fierce stares not breaking - when a slight grin teases at the edges of Beckett's mouth. Castle follows her lead as she rises from her chair.

"Get comfortable, Mr. Cosway," she glares as she opens the door, "you'll be here a while."

Castle clenches his fist, suppressing the urge to shove it in Cosway's face, as their suspect just replies with nothing but an arrogant smirk.

The writer pulls the door shut behind him, gritting his teeth. "That guy is such a dog!" he huffs as Beckett turns to face him.

"Yeah… an Alpha," she states with a grin.

Following her train of thought perfectly, Castle's eyes twinkle as he smiles, "Right… and every Alpha needs an Omega…"

"...and he found Eric Marx…"

"...weak and malleable…" Castle nods.

"...the perfect patsy..." Beckett adds pensively.

"...and breakable," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Yep," she smirks in agreement, heading for Interrogation Two. "Follow my lead?"

"Right there with you," he assures as she grabs the door handle.

Wiping all emotion from her face, Beckett steels herself as she twists the door knob. Making a grand, forceful entrance, she bursts into the room, interrupting the boys.

"Good you know your rights, Eric, because your buddy Jason just rolled on you," she bluffs, a satisfied smile teasing her lips.

Castle can't help but be turned on a little… she's so hot when she lies to suspects!

* * *

"New nickname, Ice-posito." Ryan lightly taps his partner with a folder in a congratulatory gesture.

Those two… so full of it. Pretending as if they knew the plan the whole time. Beckett can't help but roll her eyes at the boys. They just can't accept that she and Castle broke their suspect… male ego being what it is. But she's knows better… even though those two jokers will never admit to it.

"Well, that's neither here nor there," Esposito remarks, "because we won the bet."

Castle raises an eyebrow at the insinuation. "How's that?"

"Our guy broke."

"Yeah," Beckett smirks, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Because we broke him."

"So what?" Ryan chimes in. "It's like soccer. You score in our goal, it's still our point."

"Soccer?" Beckett scoffs. "Really? You're going with that one?"

The Latino just shrugs. "Works for me."

The debate continues as they leave the precinct and head out for a well-deserved beer.

By the end of the evening, they settle on calling it even. Nobody will be coming in bald tomorrow.

And for some reason, they are all okay with that.

* * *

xxxxxx

**Had a bit of time this week… thought I'd tackle episode 2.**

**This one was not easy...**

**Hope you liked what I did with it.**

xxxxxx

**Love to know your thoughts.**

**Judge away.**


	3. Inventing The Girl

**EPISODE 3 - "INVENTING THE GIRL"**

He looks down, studying the body of the deceased woman. So young. So frail. Not that much older than Alexis. His stomach churns slightly at the notion, so he buries it away and covers his discomfort with bravado.

Castle cants his head slightly, only partially attentive to the detective and the medical examiner, as he speculates aloud. "Well, she's tall, she's gorgeous, ten pounds underweight. Her hair is fried, she's wearing too much eye makeup... She's a model."

Beckett shoots him a look as he continues. "Which means she was probably at a club last night. It is, after all, Fashion Week, when all the hottest women in the world descend upon the hippest nightspots like locusts." After a brief pause, he buries his own unease. "Only, locusts eat."

His theory is quite plausible, and she's inclined to agree with him… not that she would ever admit that out loud.

"Can you tell me who killed her?" Beckett quips, voice dry and indignant.

The writer shakes his head as the detective silences him quickly. "Then pipe down."

She continues to discuss the preliminary details with Lanie, but soon enough, her mind begins to race in a different direction as she and Castle leave the crime scene. He makes some kind of smart-ass remark about clothes being to die for and she smirks slightly in response, but his voice quickly becomes white-noise as thoughts of Matilda King permeate her mind. Albeit for only a brief period during her late teens, she had once been on a similar path as her victim. The clothing, the hair, the makeup… the sheer glamour of it all. And to get a call from Matilda King at the age of nineteen… January 1999…

Her life could have evolved very differently.

But her mother's murder changed everything. Redefined everything.

Castle glances at the quiet detective as the two approach her cruiser; she's evidently deep in thought… much more so than usual. There's something in her eyes that worries him. She looks haunted - and it's got him both curious and slightly concerned.

"You okay?" he whispers as he opens the passenger side door, a sincere gentleness in his voice.

Waking from her reverie, she looks up across the roof of the car, her eyes meeting his for a very brief moment before she looks down again quickly. "I'm fine," she mutters insistently as she climbs behind the wheel.

He remains standing beside the vehicle for a brief moment before sitting down on the seat. He watches her steel herself before she engages the engine.

She doesn't look at him.

She won't look at him.

He doesn't believe her… and she knows it.

* * *

Beckett flashes her badge at the guard as they approach the stage door. He buzzes them in without a word.

Castle follows his muse through the door - as per usual - and is immediately blinded by a sudden, bright flash of light.

Cameras… mirrors… loud music… glitter… sheer fabric… people yelling, rushing, bustling about.

Beckett targets a man who is fixing the hair of one of the under-fed models. She flashes her shield, catching his attention. "I'm looking for Teddy Farrow?"

The hair stylist doesn't even pause nor look up as he uses one hand to shove a bobby pin into the wild mess of hair - the model cursing as he carelessly stabs it into the back of her neck - the other hand curling into a fist, index finger pointing across his body at a blonde man on the other side of the room.

The detective nods her head, more thankful than ever that she didn't follow a career path as a glorified Barbie doll.

Taking a step in the direction of the designer, Beckett stops in her tracks, quickly looking around for her shadow. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes simultaneously - unable to suppress the smirk forming on her lips - as she spots the writer, eyes wide and mouth gaping as he gawks at the deluge of half-naked, under-weight, overly-made-up women parading around him. She's kind of surprised he's not drooling.

She bites her tongue to keep from laughing, wiping her amusement from her face as she calls him. "You coming, Castle?"

Quickly waking from his hypnotic daze to meet her embittered glare, one of her eyebrows raised, he stutters, "Y- Yeah.."

Convincing his legs to move from their frozen stance, he hustles to catch up to the detective as she approaches a gentleman in a bluish-grey suit who is chastising one of the models about the position of her belt as it rests on her hips.

"Mr. Farrow?" Beckett voices sternly, extremely happy she is not that model.

The man pivots sharply. "Who are you?" Farrow snaps, his accent harsh.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD," she identifies herself, holding up a photo of her victim. "Do you know this girl?"

The designer's face pales as he stares at the photo, tentatively lifting it from Beckett's grip. He stares at it for a few seconds, shocked, before he finds his voice. "That's Jenna. Jenna McBoyd. She was supposed to walk for me today. My God, what happened?"

Family, friends, boss. It didn't matter who she had to tell first... it never got any easier.

"She was stabbed sometime this morning."

* * *

She slows to a stop at the red light, shooting a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

"So…" she hums, an impish grin teasing her lips. "Rina…"

He looks up from the _Cosmo_ article, a smugly satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "Jealous, Beckett?"

"_Excuse me?!_" she retorts with an indignant laugh.

"You _are_ jealous," he chides, making a show of placing the magazine on his lap.

"Jealous of what?!" she scoffs. "That you were hit on by an anorexic teenager?"

"Oooh! That reminds me," he pulls his cell from his pocket, "I should put her number in my phone."

Beckett accelerates a moment after the light turns green, pursing her lips together as her stomach flips. Is she jealous? Of what? Why the hell would she be jealous? She shoots him a quick glance again, not moving her head at all.

That damn _Cosmo_ magazine stares back at her from his lap. Stupid article.

She spies a ridiculous grin adorning his face as he plays with his phone. Stupid man.

But the flittering of her stomach won't subside. She exhales a long, belaboured breath. She's not jealous. She's not jealous. She's not jealous.

"So…" she presses her tongue into the side of her cheek. "How _do_ you know her, anyhow?"

"Uh, like I said… we met at a party," he stammers, quickly burying his face in the magazine once again.

"You don't remember her at all, do you?" she remarks dryly.

"Nope…" he admits sheepishly, placing special emphasis on the 'p'. "Not at all."

She quells her impending laughter as she presses her lips together tightly. Strangely enough, the inexplicable fluttering in her stomach dissipates instantaneously as well.

* * *

Castle sits quietly as he watches the young man fall apart with grief. His wife has been murdered. Jenna McBoyd was someone's wife. Someone's lover. Someone's everything.

And she was being stalked too.

"And you filed a report?" Beckett clarifies.

"Yeah. A dozen of them," Travis insists, his voice cracking as he becomes more irritable, "and every time you people said the same damn thing! That this is New York and you got more important things to do than to track down some annoying fan!"

The distraught husband has every right to be angry. His wife was being stalked and nothing was done. The police who took the call just wrote it off… the way they'd written off Johanna Beckett's murder as random gang violence.

The thought of it makes Castle queasy.

Beckett's face remains stoic. She is hiding it well, but he's observed her enough to know her tells. The slight twitch of her lip. The glassy look behind her eyes. She's enraged.

"And now she's dead," the husband chokes. "My wife is dead."

Castle's thoughts begin to wander. He finds himself pondering how he would feel if someone he loved more than life itself was taken from him. His mother… Alexis…

No wife.

Observing the intense anguish on Travis McBoyd's face... he wonders what it must be like to love someone like that. A passion so deep, so profound. Someone you chose. Someone you fell in love with.

Because he's never felt like that…

His eyes shift of their own volition to peer at Beckett for a brief moment before she looks back at him - blue and hazel eyes locked for a split second before she clears her throat, returning her attention to the grieving husband.

He's never felt that for Meredith… nor Gina…

But Beckett?…

He chances another glance at her - her perfect profile filling his sightline. Her silky, porcelain skin glowing in a way that demands to be touched. Her pink, luscious lips… the sexy little freckle under her eye... both crying to be kissed. Her long, swan-like neck….

_WHOA! _What the heck was_ that _about?!

He quickly shakes the notion from his head. Beckett is super hot, he's not denying that… but marry the woman? Hell no! No way!

Castle swallows sharply as Beckett ushers Travis out of the break room. He watches them make their way towards the elevator before he rushes to sink, quickly splashing cold water on his face.

He prides himself on his vivid imagination… But Kate Beckett? His _wife_?!

He wipes his face dry with a dish towel as he scoffs at the preposterous idea. Wanting to have sex with the woman doesn't mean he wants to _marry _her! It's ridiculous!

Ridiculous.

* * *

She tosses her coat across the armrest and flops down on her couch. Eyes closed tight as she exhales heavily, she pinches the bridge of her nose with her finger tips. The Universe must really hate her.

First she's haunted by her past.

Then she's haunted by that damn magazine article.

Now she's got to deal with a murder that might never have occurred in the first place if some freaking cops hadn't been so fucking lazy!

She leans back against the plush cushions, burying her face in her hands as her head falls back, accompanied by a belaboured sigh. This day needs to end. Now.

And the notion of a hot bath and a good book is sounding very appealing at the moment.

After turning on the faucets in her ensuite bathroom and adding some bubble bath soap to the warm, soothing liquid, she returns to her bedroom to peel out of her clothing… as if she's stripping off the weight of the day. Carelessly tossing her clothes on the floor, she rounds her bed to grab a book off her bookshelf… however, she freezes in her tracks as she spies his blue eyes staring back at her - as if they're studying her naked form.

_Cosmopolitan_ magazine. _His _cover. Sitting there on her bedside table. Taunting her.

Tempting her.

She motions to reach for it, stilling her movements for a brief moment before quickly grabbing the magazine before she can change her mind.

It's there. She needs _something_ to read. Might as well just read_ it_…

But only for professional curiosity, she tells herself.

Nothing more.

* * *

Castle furrows his brow slightly as he shoots a quick glance at Beckett. She was pretty aloof when he met her at the morgue, and when she switched her phone to her left ear when he tried to eavesdrop on her conversation with Esposito - yeah, she's pissed at him about something.

He opens his mouth momentarily to speak, but his words die in his throat as he sees a deep, steeled focus in her eyes.

He watches her bite her lip slightly, right hand gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter as she keeps her eyes locked on the road in front of her.

He nods his head once, ever-so-slightly, before finding his voice. "You okay?"

"Fine…" she replies, her voice stern.

"You sure?"

Her eyes narrow as she pulls into her parking spot in front of the precinct. "Mmhmm…" she mumbles.

Apparently he's done something to piss her off… again. But he usually knows what he's done. This time he's at a complete loss. He raises his eyebrows as he releases a deep sigh, shaking his head in confusion as he follows her into the elevator.

"You're positive everything's o-"

_"Castle!"_ The warning laced with the tone of her voice is enough to shut him up as the elevator doors close.

They ride up to Homicide in silence, Castle unsure of how to progress. He settles for leaning against the back wall as she focuses her attention on her cellphone's screen. He's not entirely sure if she's actually reading anything - but he has a sneaking suspicion she's trying very hard to look busy so that he doesn't attempt to talk to her.

He exhales a heavy yet silent breath as the back of his head presses against the NYPD crest on the wall. Doesn't matter with this infuriating, mysterious, intriguing woman... he just can't win.

She doesn't speak to him again until they exit the elevator… but, of course, she's all about the job.

"Do you find it odd Jenna had a stalker?"

Not the conversation he'd been hoping for, but it's an opening… and he'll take what he can get at this point. "No, not really. Why?"

"Well, she wasn't Heidi Klum. She hadn't even had a national campaign."

Their brief discussion about their unfortunate victim is cut short as he spots his glorious magazine article sitting open on her desk. He's so proud of it… and picks it up to read it again, a satisfied smile lining his face.

But she doesn't seem to share his sentiment.

Her voice is sober, her face betraying her discomfort. "It's fine."

Is this why she's mad at him? The article? That doesn't make sense. Everything that was written was extremely positive… and flattering.

He leans in, confused. "Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset."

"You look upset."

"Well, I'm not," she insists.

"But if you were upset, you would tell me, right?"

"I'm not."

"But if you were," he repeats.

Her voice is dry, but she can't quite mask her frustration. "It doesn't matter because I'm not upset."

But he doesn't have a chance to dig any deeper since the boys interrupt their _moment_… but it doesn't matter. She's mad because of something that was written in the article.

And he's going to find out what eventually.

* * *

Esposito slaps his cuffs on Will James and steers him out of the ratty apartment, Ryan on his heels as they step out of the aged building.

Shoving James into the back of their cruiser, Esposito slams the door, then turns to look at his partner, a confused look adorning his face.

"Know what's still buggin' me, Bro?"

Ryan doesn't reply with words - simply gives his partner an inquisitive glance.

"How Beckett knew about that comp card."

Ryan nods in agreement, his response playful. "It _is_ an interesting mystery."

Esposito rounds the back of the car, grasping the driver's side door handle. "And what kind of detectives would we be if we didn't investigate?"

"What kind of detectives, indeed?" the Irishman confirms with a smirk.

"Call her dad when we get back?"

Ryan nods enthusiastically with a sly grin, opening the passenger door. "On it."

* * *

Castle remains uncharacteristically silent, elbow resting on the passenger side window ledge of her Crown Victoria, lips resting on a loosely curled fist.

His silence is welcome, yet slightly disconcerting considering she was subjected to an interrogation about that damn article less than an hour ago.

She throws a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" he mumbles into his fingers.

"You sure?"

He sighs heavily, like he wants to say more, but he settles on repeating himself on a loaded breath. "Yeah…"

"You gonna be okay to go in with me to talk to Will James?"

He continues to look out the side window. "Yeah," he mutters.

For a man who makes his living with words, he sure seems to have an issue with variety at the moment.

"This about the case?"

"Yeah…" he sighs, then follows up with, "...no."

Okay, something's on his mind… and it's about a lot more than that magazine article.

* * *

"Yo! Tech was able to recover some of the deleted photos from Will James' camera."

Ryan looks up from his computer at his partner who is approaching their desk area. "Anything interesting?"

"See for yourself, Bro." Esposito hands him the manilla envelope, an amused smirk on his face.

Ryan shuffles through the pictures quickly. "Just pictures of Jenna at home… nothing all that interesting."

"Still…" the Latino muses, "I think Beckett'll want to see these right away."

"She and Castle still at the Teddy Farrow fashion event?"

Esposito flashes his partner a wide, toothy smile as he raises his eyebrows devilishly. Free food and half-naked models? Ryan smiles mischievously in reply, grabbing the envelope and the car keys from his desk.

Espo quickly yanks the keys from his partner's grip, heading to the elevator. "I'm driving."

Ryan just rolls his eyes as he hastens his pace to catch up to this partner. The Latino presses the down button before turning to face Ryan as the doors open. "You call her dad yet, Bro?"

"Uh-huh," Ryan grins, pressing his tongue firmly into the side of his cheek as he steps into the elevator.

Esposito follows him inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. "And?..."

"And pictures are on their way," he smirks as the elevator doors shut.

* * *

Rina's information about Sierra Goodwyn was a great help… even though Beckett teased him a few times on the way back to the precinct about him having been hit on by Alexis' former babysitter. At least she figured out why he's been brooding.

But that's neither here nor there at the moment.

He can see that Beckett is holding it together… doing everything she can not to explode at Teddy Farrow as he rants about the embarrassment and spectacle she caused by arresting his top model. How his entire spring collection will now be tainted due to the controversy and scandal.

"A girl is dead, Mr. Farrow," she remarks sternly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It doesn't mean my business should suffer," the designer replies indignantly.

And Castle thought _he _was shallow at times. He's got nothing on Teddy Farrow.

Beckett attempts to calmly put things in perspective. "They're just clothes."

"Just clothes, Detective?" Farrow retorts. "Clothes are civilization. Clothes are what separate us from animals."

Castle ponders the man's impassioned speech, noticing how Beckett too is considering the weight of his words. He makes a valid argument.

"Not always," she counters, meeting the designer's eyes with a cold stare.

She quickly pivots on her heel and makes her way towards Interrogation One before Farrow has the opportunity to argue. Speechless, the designer watches the detective for a brief moment before he turns to glance at Castle, a stunned look adorning his face. The writer simply ignores the man and follows Beckett without a word.

She makes a valid argument too.

* * *

He could tell she was frustrated by the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip. This was not her playful, taunting lip bite. This was the bite that indicated she was keeping herself from throttling someone.

He'd ask if she was alright, but he knows she isn't… and he's not ready to take another verbal beating today. So he mirrors her position - he sits in silence in the passenger seat of her car, staring forward, observing the chaos of the hectic Manhattan traffic as they make their way to Wyatt Monroe's apartment.

"It just…" she starts, breaking the silence before catching herself and falling silent again.

Castle waits a few beats before slowing angling himself to face her. "What?" he prompts softly.

"Farrow… clothes… it just pisses me off!" She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, controlling her blatant frustration.

Castle says nothing, sitting silently, simply waiting for her to let it out. Let out what she really wants to say.

"I mean…" She pauses for a few seconds, shaking her head. "When did clothes become more important than human life?!" She grits her teeth, turning her head to meet his eyes for a brief moment.

Castle meets her intense gaze before he turns his head to refocus on the road. She does the same. The two sit in silence again.

He likes looking good and dressing well as much as she does.

But if clothes make the man… is the man worth anything on his own?

He inhales heavily through his nose… because he has no answer.

* * *

It made him sick to his stomach. Watching the young man sitting there across from Beckett, an emotional wreck as he admitted to killing his own wife.

Castle could hardly bear to look at Travis as he listened to the recording of his wife's voice, pleading to the photographer… crying out for her husband.

"Home," Beckett whispers at the distraught young man, stopping the voice recording. "She was trying to go home... to you."

There's nothing more to say.

Castle leans against the two-way mirror, staring blankly, as Beckett proceeds to read Travis McBoyd his Miranda rights. The writer continues to listen, but he simply cannot not bring himself to look at the two other people in the room. Beckett's voice fills the space amidst the sobs from the broken young man.

A man who murdered his wife to stop her from leaving him.

Castle's earlier thoughts about loving someone so much that it would tear you up inside re-entered his mind. Meredith had cheated on him. They divorced. And he was not at all upset. Not in the way Travis is shattered.

He loved Meredith. He must have. They created Alexis.

But listening to the young man bawling, his head buried in his arms on the table, Castle starts to wonder. Maybe he never loved Meredith. Maybe he never even loved Kyra… after all, he didn't fight for her.

A thought starts to float through his mind… a notion he has never once considered to be plausible until now.

Maybe he's incapable of giving himself fully to someone. Of really loving someone.

Of giving away his heart.

He's suddenly snapped from his trance as he hears the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat. Spinning around, he's met with the sight of Beckett, holding the door open, summoning him with a slight nudge of her head.

"You comin'?"

He exhales slowly, nodding his head affirmatively, as he follows her out into the hall. Shutting the door behind him, he fights to find his voice. Find his composure.

"That was a risky bluff," he notes, finding safety in discussing the case. "Threatening to play a recording we didn't even have."

"It didn't seem like a risk to me," she explains nonchalantly. "He loved his wife very much. He wouldn't want to relive her death."

He's silent for a second, considering the profundity her words. He doesn't think he was ever that emotionally invested in either Meredith or Gina. What does that say about him?

Crossing through the bullpen, they sit down at her desk - Beckett in her chair, Castle in the one beside her desk. He smiles to himself, starting to feel like he belongs there.

That he fits… He's never had that feeling before.

And now she's even asking about Nikki Heat… what her alter-ego would do after a long day. Perhaps she's not so angry about the article after all.

"She'd go home," he muses, "pour a stiff drink, run a hot bath, read a good book."

Beckett ponders his suggestion, but dismisses it nonchalantly, scrunching her nose in a way he finds adorable. "Too bad I don't have a good book to read."

"Mmm…" he shrugs carelessly. "I'd let you have _Heat Wave_, but my publisher doesn't want any copies leaking out."

"Why'd you let that _Cosmo_ reporter read it, then?"

"Well, that's for publicity purposes. You know, you want the press to have a little taste of…" he begins to justify before he clues in, noticing her sly glance. "Wait, whoa. Is... is that why you've been so upset? Because I let her read it before you?"

"I am the inspiration," she counters. "I should be reading it before a reporter does."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Why didn't you just give it to me?"

He's flabbergasted. "Why didn't you ask?"

"Why didn't it occur to you?"

Castle stops, words dying in his throat. Shaking his head slightly, he remarks, "You'll have it by tomorrow."

"Good."

"Good," he echoes.

Shaking off his initial consternation, Castle can't help but be a bit excited. She's a fan and she wants to read his book. He can't help but grin to himself as he heads towards the back stairs.

It's not a huge victory, but he'll take it.

* * *

Beckett sits at her desk, unable to suppress the smug smirk from forming on her face. A new novel, written by her favourite author, and she's the inspiration.

And she's going to be able to read it early.

It's not a huge victory, but she'll take it.

* * *

"Yo…" Esposito taps Ryan's shoulder as he watches the writer exit the bullpen, "Castle's leaving."

"Sending… now." Ryan clicks his mouse and immediately looks up at Beckett's desk.

Esposito slaps the side of Ryan's bicep with the back of his hand as the boys enjoy the show, watching as the satisfied grin on Beckett's face quickly vanishes the moment she looks at her computer screen.

"Touch down…" the Latino murmurs.

Ryan flashes a stupidly joyous grin at his partner before he returns his attention to his boss, watching her lean in closer to the monitor, her facial expression one of utter disbelief.

"Looking good, Detective Beckett," Esposito teases as he leans back in his chair.

Her head bolts up, head in a daze as she's met by the smirks of the two clowns.

"How did you guys...?"

"We're detectives," Ryan replies, as Esposito adds at almost the same moment, "Called your dad."

"Okay. Okay." She rushes over to their desks. "You guys have had your fun. I was seventeen and I thought that…" she lowers her voice to a whisper, gritting her teeth, "_modeling_… would be an easier way to make money than waitressing."

"Riiiiiiiiiight," Esposito mocks.

"It was one summer, no big deal," she counters, turning back towards her desk before she snaps her fingers and spins around, the threatening glare of impending death in her eyes. "And if you guys tell Castle about this, I will kill you."

Because she doesn't need him ogling and taunting her more than he already does… she really doesn't.

Really.

* * *

xxxxxx

**So ends episode 3… only 21 to go.**

**Hope you liked it.**

**Judge away. **


	4. Fool Me Once

**So I originally accidentally attached this to the wrong fic... *le blush***

**I blame the fact that I was still flailing over 6x15. (Weak, I know... Go with it)**

**It's in the right place now. **

**Thanks to those who pointed out my error.**

* * *

**EPISODE 4 - "FOOL ME ONCE"**

She adds a final detail to her case report, glad that this one is finally put to bed, when her phone rings. Picking it up off her desk, she presses the receiver to her ear. "Beckett."

As she listens to dispatch list the details of the latest murder, she snaps her fingers, grabbing the attention of the boys. They immediately grab their coats off the backs of their chairs as she hangs up. "We got one. Miller Preparatory School."

Ryan's head jolts suddenly, his voice cracking. "Kids?"

"No…" She quickly explains how their victim was killed while video streaming a call from the Arctic.

Esposito smirks as they make their way to the elevator. "Oooh, Castle's gonna love this one."

Beckett suppresses a sly grin as she dial's Castle's cell. She feels her stomach flip a little at the sound of his voice on the other end. _"Castle."_

"On our way to a scene," she states flatly into the speaker, trying to control the fluttering in her core. "Miller Preparatory. Midtown."

_"Got it."_

She quickly ends the call before the writer has a chance to say anything else. As she and the boys step into the elevator, she exhales slowly, releasing whatever is causing her stomach to flutter.

Why the hell her body does that when she talks to Castle, she has no idea.

It's not like she's attracted to him.

* * *

Pemmican.

A guy was murdered in front of a bunch of six-year-olds and the man is thinking about beef and grease. What the hell is wrong with him?

She chances a side glance at the writer as they head to Steven Fletcher's apartment. She's caught off guard as she's met by a smoldering grin and cobalt blue eyes staring back at her. She stomach starts to flip again. _What the hell?!_

"What?" she snaps defensively.

"Nothing…" he muses with a playful smirk.

Her eyes narrow as she turns her attention back to the road. "_Castle."_

"Just wondering what you've been up to lately," he grins. "Do anything fun this weekend?"

She raises an eyebrow inquisitively as she turns off Amsterdam on to 79th. "We're investigating a murder and you want to engage in small talk?"

He shoots her a heated smirk. "Why?... Do you have other ideas that might give us something to do with our mouths?"

She simply rolls her eyes as she shuts off the motor and exits her cruiser. This guy is incorrigible.

As she and Castle follow Ryan and Esposito into the building, she wonders if she's coming down with something because the uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach does not seem to be going away.

* * *

On the car ride back to the precinct, Beckett verbalizes some questions about the case, Fletcher, the whole Arctic set up in his living room. And in typical Castle-esque fashion, the writer throws out a couple of wildly entertaining theories.

"Former KGB agent who was infiltrating the American school system to brainwash kids in their cognitive years with the ultimate goal of raising an army of super soldiers in the future… the Soviet Union returning to their former glory by conquering countries from within! Oooh! That's good..." he exclaims with childlike zeal. "I'm writing that one down!"

She rolls her eyes with scorn, an unimpressed look glazing over her face as he pulls a notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins to write furiously.

She'd laugh if she didn't find it so endearing… seeing her favourite author's imagination at work… imagining his brain whirring as he spins an intricate tale for the enjoyment of his readers… thinking about his strong fingers as they fly across his computer keyboard… how they would feel tangled in her hair… touching her skin… stroking along her… _WHOA! Stop! _Those thoughts have no business in her head! No business at all!

"You okay?" His deep voice pulls her attention back to the car… the road… driving.

"Fine," she retorts with a bit more bite than intended.

"You sure? Your face was getting a bit red," he observes.

"Must be coming down with something," she counters flatly, eyes locked on the road in front of her.

_"Mmhmm…"_ she hears him hum quietly as he continues to write on his notepad.

Good god, she blushed… and _he_ saw it.

Fuck.

* * *

As soon as they exit on to the Homicide floor, she bolts towards the bullpen as quickly as possible without looking like she's running. Her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults while they rode up in the elevator, and the only thing she can do is ignore it. Keep working. Hope it will go away.

She doesn't have time to get sick… if that's what this is.

Castle, however, doesn't follow her. She stops in her tracks while in the hallway, looking around briefly at her desk area, but is distracted as one of the uniforms hands her the passports that are now in evidence bags.

"A couple of US passports…" she mutters to herself as the female cop heads off in a different direction. "See ya."

She shuffles through the various items clutched in her hands, momentarily engrossed in the case, before she hears his familiar voice just behind her.

"Oh, oh, oh…"

She glances to her right just in time to see a coffee mug being placed in her hand. Coffee. He made her a coffee. How the hell this guy can be so annoying and yet so thoughtful at the same time is an enigma. She's momentarily taken aback as she wraps her hand around the warm mug, but doesn't allow her voice to waiver at all.

"Oh... thank you."

"So, have you read it?" he prods.

She's a bit confused by this left turn in the conversation. "Read what?"

"The book," he insists.

Ahhh… so that's why he was asking about what she'd been up to. Wants to have the upper hand. But she's better at this game.

"What book?" she retorts.

Castle shoots her an indignant look and she knows immediately that she's got him hooked.

"Oh! _Your_ book," she relents with an exaggerated tone. "_Heat. Wave_."

She gives him nothing more and knows that the suspense will eat at him. He breaks first. "Well?"

"I haven't gotten to it yet," she lies, watching the spark in his eyes dim, his bright facial expression flatten slightly.

Stringing him along… Yeah. This is going to be fun.

* * *

Beckett didn't think anyone had more of an overactive imagination than Castle.

Until she met Patty Schultz.

Sitting across from the woman in Interrogation One - listening her talk about killing Steven Fletcher in her mind using a belt sander and her concern for Mr. Muffins' high cholesterol - the detective is sure Castle has met his match.

…and that this whole interview is a waste of time. "Okay… thank you. We're done."

But motioning to rise from her chair, Castle halts her movements, palm of his hand gently brushing her shoulder. "How did- how did Mr. Fletcher con you?"

She doesn't quite catch the next bit of the conversation - something about cats and cryogenics - because chills rush along her spine and that damn fluttering returns in her stomach.

She kind of tunes out during the back and forth between Castle and the crazy cat lady, trying to stay engaged, but the woman is nuts and her stomach is doing acrobatics that she'd like to control.

So when Schultz asks to see Fletcher's body, not only does she need to get out of that room - fast - but she also wonders if there might be something stiff she can add to her coffee this morning.

Of course, Writer Monkey is having a field day. "You know, I can't help but be a little impressed with our boy Fletcher," he remarks after shutting the door behind him.

"Please tell me you're kidding," she retorts, voice laced with cynicism.

Yep. It's going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

"Steven wasn't like that," Elise Finnigan insists, tears welling in her eyes. "He loved me for me."

Castle looks across at Beckett, observing her purse her lips together, withholding some counter-argument that the detective really wants to express. But instead, all she says is, "I'm sorry," her voice genuine in its tone.

He remains quiet as they shake the hands of both Elise's mother and friend, accepting the kindly nod from her father - his arms wrapped around his distraught daughter - as they head to the door.

As much as Castle is impressed by Fletcher's abilities as a con-man, he continues to be more and more impressed with Beckett's empathy as not only a cop, but as a human being. How she deals with the frustration and anger from the friends and family of the victims as she tries to bring them closure.

If he can manage to capture even an iota of her depth while developing Nikki Heat in any subsequent novels that he might get to write, he'd be amazed.

"I can't believe how naive she's being," the detective grits as they exit onto the sidewalk, waking him from his momentary meditation. "Even with overwhelming evidence that her fiancé was a con-man, she still believes he loved her."

"People see what they want to see..." he begins, various thoughts racing through his mind. He just hopes and prays he gets the chance to write more Nikki Heat books… because he really wants the opportunity to help others see what he sees... in her.

Because she's extraordinary.

* * *

Returning to the precinct, they find Ryan and Esposito still poring over files and digging through Fletcher's life.

"Any luck?" Beckett asks as she drapes her coat across the back of her chair.

"Nah," Esposito replies, pivoting in his chair to face her. "Just one dead end after another."

"Yeah," Ryan adds, not looking up from his file. "This guy's aliases had aliases!"

Castle raises his eyebrows at the thought, even more impressed with the con-artist. Beckett releases a heavy exhale, eyes wide as she spies the mound of new files spread across the surface of her desk.

"Okay," she sighs decisively. "How'bout we order in… looks like this might take a while."

Castle's already got his cell out while she's speaking. "What do you like on your pizza?" he inquires, lifting the phone to his ear as he looks over at Beckett.

But Esposito beats her to the punch. "Anything, Bro… just so long as you're payin'."

"No anchovies, though," Ryan insists, gathering his files.

"Definitely no anchovies," the Latino echoes.

"And no hot peppers..." Ryan adds.

Esposito nods in agreement. "Maybe some sautéed onions…"

"Ooooh… bacon strips..."

Espo offers his fist for Ryan to pound as Castle interrupts their banter. "How about I just get a Combo and a Meatlover's?"

Esposito just shrugs, picking up the last of his files. "Whatever you want, Bro. Your money."

Castle just shakes his head as he places the order, and Beckett suppresses an amused smirk, biting her tongue as she sits down at her desk, the boys dragging their chairs over to join her.

About forty minutes later, Ryan makes room for the pizza boxes as the four hunker down around Beckett's desk, sifting through everything they were able to dig up on Steven Fletcher.

The enticing aroma of fresh pizza draws the Captain out of his office. "What'cha got?"

"Trying to find a clue to the con that killed Fletcher," Beckett replies, looking up from her file to address her boss, "but it looks like our guy was a criminal over-achiever."

But that only makes the testosterone in the room more potent as the boys vocalize how impressed they are with Fletcher's ability to con people out of their money.

"Don't be so impressed," Beckett remarks, taking a piece of bacon from atop the pizza. "The guy was a criminal."

"I don't know. There's something about a- a well-played con that just makes you want to tip your hat, though," Castle retorts, Ryan nodding in agreement. "And they have such great names. _The Spanish Prisoner... Pig-in-a-Poke… The Pigeon Drop_."

Montgomery's face teems with excitement. "Oh, I love a good con movie. _House of Games_, _Catch Me If You Can_."

Beckett releases a thick sigh, returning her focus to the files on her desk as the boys proceed to do their worst Steve Martin impressions.

"How about you, Beckett?" Ryan asks. "What's your favourite?"

Oh, he is _not_ dragging her into this macho-fest.

"I hate con movies," she replies flatly, a statement that is met with a chorus of shocked "_What"s _from the men.

"How can you hate _The Sting_?" Castle whines. "It like... what, took 20 Oscars?"

Yeah… pushing his buttons seems to be working just great. But whatever faults she points out about Fletcher, the boys continue to be impressed with the extent to which the con-man went to pull off his scam - even Montgomery.

"Now who's the sucker?" she mutters, her brain lagging slightly behind her mouth as she realizes who she's addressing. A stark silence falls over the five individuals as Montgomery gives her a loaded look, Esposito and Castle deliberately looking away. "Sir," she adds sheepishly.

Montgomery lets it go there, bringing the focus back to the case. "Sucker or no sucker, clearly there's more to this guy than meets the eye."

The Latino yanks on Beckett's chain as their Captain leaves, ducking quickly as Beckett flings her pencil across the desk at him. "Shut up, Esposito."

She pushes back from her desk as the boys refocus their attention on the papers in front of them. "Alright, I'm gonna leave you guys to it."

"Where are you going?" Castle asks as he shuffles his papers. "It's early."

They like con movies… and she's pulling off the best con of them all. And the writer doesn't have a clue. "I've got plans."

She has a date… with a certain smart, savvy, kinda-slutty fictional female NYPD detective… not that he's ever going to find out.

As she steps into the elevator, she overhears Castle mutter, "_The woman hates con movies."_

_'Oh, Castle,' _she muses to herself as the doors begin to close,_ '…you have no idea.'_

* * *

The boys finally call it a night around 8:00pm as they still haven't been able to find anything about Fletcher that might help narrow down who might have killed him.

Not that Castle really cares, because his mind has been elsewhere since Beckett left a few hours ago.

A date.

She had a date. _Has_ a date.

With some guy. Some guy who has no business spending time with his muse. She's probably dressed up in some form fitting dress that is hugging her perfect curves. One that ends just below her knees, showcasing her long, silky legs. Something with thin straps, revealing the supple skin of her shoulders.

She's probably at some fancy restaurant right now… giggling over the rich chocolate mousse that he's just scooped into his spoon, holding it out as an offering of something more tantalizing. More promising. He's probably eyeing her luscious mouth right now as she wraps her velvety lips around the edge of the spoon, humming with sensual lust as the rich dessert explodes against her taste buds, the pleasant effects of the now empty bottle of red wine buzzing through her veins.

And she'll kiss him. She'll kiss him goodnight… maybe even invite him up to her place, and…

He shakes his head, trying desperately to erase the visual of her date from his head. But his writer's imagination is running wild, racing, filing his brain with the taunting reality that Beckett is probably in the company of someone right now. Someone who is conning her... filling her mind with lies and selling himself as someone good enough for her.

Someone who is not him.

The notion makes his stomach churn… but not because he is jealous in a romantic way. No. No way.

It's because she is his muse. His _muse._ That's all.

He doesn't even remember going home, but his mind is brought back to reality as he hears the semi-melodic tones of violin music coming from up stairs. Alexis. Violin lessons. Model-wanna-be Dylan… probably filling his precious daughter's head with lies.

He should have Dylan checked out… he knows a guy at Juilliard. And people in law enforcement.

But after Dylan leaves, bringing this up with Alexis backfires. He watches helplessly as his daughter storms off, slamming her bedroom door.

Utterly flustered, Castle looks at his mother for answers. "What's going on with her?"

"Besides your unreasonableness? Hormones," Martha points out flatly. "What's your excuse?"

What's his excuse indeed.

If he could stop thinking about the women in his life being led astray by men who aren't good enough for them, things would be much better.

* * *

She'd managed to read most of the first six chapters of _Heat Wave_ last night before sleep overtook her, dreams of Nikki and Rook floating through her subconscious.

Well… the dreams started out as Nikki and Rook, but Rook began to look an awful lot like Castle as the dreams progressed, and Nikki morphed to look an awful lot like herself. And the sexual tension between the two permeated her mind, the scenes so vivid she could almost feel his breath on her skin as the journalist invaded the detective's personal bubble time and time again.

Her heart began to race as Castle's heavenly blue eyes locked on hers as the two stood at the balustrade of Matthew Starr's apartment. She leaned in, only to have the scene change. She was now in her tub, thinking about the writer. The words from one of the last pages she read flashed through her head: "_What would it be like? How would he feel and taste and move?"_

And then the image of Castle is all she sees… feels… moving in… large hands splaying widely on her hips… sliding up along her torso… his mouth next to her ear… his heavy breath sending electricity jolting to her core. His hand brushes a loose tendril of hair off her cheek, gently tucking it behind her ear as he leans in… she can almost taste him… and...

Beckett's eyes flash open. _What the fuck was that?_ She quickly takes in her surroundings. Her bedside lamp is still on, _Heat Wave _laying open but face down on her comforter. It wasn't real. It was the book.

It was just the book.

She lays in bed, wide-eyed, for a few more minutes - torn about whether or not to close her eyes. Because if she closes her eyes, that dream might resume. And she doesn't want it to.

She doesn't.

Really.

She looks over at her alarm clock, the hands indicating it's not yet 6:00am. But she chooses to get up anyway. Perhaps a rigorous sparring session will clear _him_ from her mind.

* * *

After spending about an hour taking her frustrations out on the heavy bag and then going a few rounds against one of the uniforms from Vice, Beckett's cell begins to chime.

"Beckett," she answers, exhaling heavily into the speaker.

"Uhhhh… did I… did I interrupt… something?" Castle's voice is hesitant, worried even.

"I'm working out, Castle," she retorts. "Whad'ya want?"

"Oh! You're here already…" He sounds shocked… and somewhat relieved. "I've had a breakthrough about the case."

The detective simply rolls her eyes as she swallows a mouthful of water. "Fine… I'll be right down."

Moments later, clad only in her tight yoga pants and form-fitting tank top, she emerges from the front stairwell. "Okay, Castle," she exhales. "What was so important that you had to cut my sparring session short?"

"Just that I cracked this case wide open." He looks up from the brochure to eye Beckett - a sweat-glazed, heavy-breathing Beckett. God, she's sexy. "You know, the thought of you fighting in a ring with another woman...strangely arousing."

"Who says I was sparring with a woman?" she counters quickly.

"Oh, your mystery date."

Interesting… She opts to poke him a bit more. "Oh, do I detect some jealousy?"

"Me,_ jealous_? Ha! Double ha," he cracks.

He's so hooked. So she goes in for the kill. She leans in close, lips inches away from each other. His sweet breath permeating her senses. His deep blue eyes reading the depths of hers.

"What if I told you that my date was with your book?" she teases, lingering in front of him.

"Really?" But the vivid memory of her dream re-enters her mind. And he's right in front of her… like the Universe is playing with her. Tempting her.

She quickly regains control of the situation. "No," she retorts, quickly pulling away.

But the lingering sensation of his body so close to hers remains… and that damn flutter in her stomach comes back.

She's usually better at the game than this.

She doesn't quite understand why she's not in control… because this is about teasing him.

Stringing him along.

Nothing else.

* * *

As they leave the Finnigan residence once again, Gerry Finnigan's pistol secured in an evidence bag, Beckett ends her call with Ryan. "Okay, the boys are going to track down Kurt Lopez and bring him in."

"You think the P.I. Finnigan hired will have found anything about Fletcher that we didn't?" Castle inquires.

She shrugs loosely, opening the driver's side door of her car. "Worth a shot."

During the drive back to the precinct, the writer and the detective discuss the case and nothing but… however Castle can't help feeling as if Beckett is uncomfortable about something.

There's nothing she's doing or saying to alert his senses - more like what she's not doing and not saying. She seems guarded. Careful. More so than usual.

The elevator ride up to Homicide is ridden in almost complete silence before Beckett breaches the intense quiet.

"It doesn't add up." Castle turns his head to look at her inquisitively before she continues, stepping out of the elevator. "Fletcher changing his ways so quickly? I don't buy it."

Castle follows down the hallway, curious about her thought process. "You think it's possible that Fletcher was telling Gerry the truth?"

"That he's suddenly a con-man with a heart of gold? No. That's just another con."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don't think people can change?"

She doesn't even flinch. "No." He's taken aback by her immediate and decisive response. Shocked even.

"I've seen too many repeat offenders to believe for one second that a guy who promises never to beat his wife again actually won't," she clarifies.

"That's a pretty bleak attitude," he points out.

"Not bleak," she insists. "Realistic."

She ends the conversation then and there, heading to her desk - but Castle remains in the hall, processing the immense weight of her words.

She doesn't think people can change.

Does she even see that her father changed after the death of her mother… how he turned to the bottle, but then gave it up for her. And what about how she changed? The case consumed her for years, and she had sought out therapeutic assistance to let it go. To become the woman she is now.

People can't change. He shakes his head at the thought. That can't be true… because he's changing. He's changing every day. In little ways. For her.

But she's not seeing it.

Or doesn't want to.

* * *

Beckett grips the steering wheel tightly as she presses down heavily on the gas pedal. Jim Wheeler. First grade teacher. Conning his own students.

How low can one person get?

She pulls up in front of the school, pounding her foot on the brake pad with unnecessary force.

Castle's body jerks against the seatbelt strap as the car comes to a stop. "You okay?"

"Fine," she grits through her teeth. "It's just… guys like Wheeler piss me off. Wearing masks. Pretending to be better people than they actually are."

Castle has no response as he shuts the passenger door, following her into the school.

Is he actually changing to become a better person… or is it all an act? Is he a fraud? Is he just conning her? Or worse, conning himself? He's not sure. All he knows is that, when it comes to Beckett, hiding behind a mask is not an option.

He follows Beckett into Wheeler's classroom, the teacher's back to them as he constructs his word wall. Looking at the man's back, Castle realizes one thing very quickly. This man does not impress him. Students are supposed to be able to trust their teachers - educators educate, they are not supposed to deceive.

The writer glares as Wheeler spins around. Stopping in front of him, Castle flashes the surveillance photo of the teacher conspiring with Fletcher. Castle steels his eyes.

"Um... Okay, I'm- I'm not gonna lie to you," the teacher stammers.

"Really?" Castle retorts, pointing at the image of Wheeler in the photo. "Cuz clearly, you're pretty good at it."

Nope. Not impressed at all.

* * *

How could Elise Finnigan be so gullible... believing Steven Fletcher was a CIA agent? Beckett just shakes her head in disbelief.

And the fact that Castle believes it too? Ughh.

At least she's going to get a dollar out of this. Well… she's pretty sure she'll win a dollar. Because there's no way Steven Fletcher is a secret agent. None.

That's just another con.

Driving back to the precinct, the shrill sound of Castle's cell interrupts the silence. He quickly answers the call. "Castle."

Beckett tries to eavesdrop, but she cannot catch the other half of the conversation. "Uh-huh… uh-huh… Steven Fletcher… the 12th Preci-" Suddenly, he removes the phone from his ear and stares at it momentarily.

"So?..." she demands after a brief moment, her tone betraying her impatience.

Castle puts his cell back in his pocket. "He'll get back to me."

"Your _guy_," she mocks, parking in front of the precinct.

"Agent Gray," he corrects, getting out of the cruiser.

"Does _Agent Gray_ have a first name?" she smirks, stepping into the elevator.

"Not even sure Gray is his real last name," Castle shrugs.

No more is said, the silence cocooning around them. As the faint hypnotic hum of the elevator's motor fills the space, the delicious scent of his cologne infuses the air around her. Vanilla and cloves. She wets the edge of her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, her teeth biting down, drawing her lip into her mouth ever-so-slightly.

A familiar warming sensation causes her stomach to flutter once more. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and wonders what it would be like… to press her mouth to his skin. Would he taste like vanil- _What?! No! _This is not right! She's not thinking about that! This is Castle. _Castle!_

She quickly steps out of the elevator the moment the doors part, traipsing deliberately down the hall, the writer on her heels. She needs to clear her head. Think about something else. Now.

She crosses into the bullpen and heads for her desk. "So how do you know this guy, anyway, Castle?"

"I met Agent Gray when I was researching _Storm Warning_. Now, this guy was invaluable for the really hard-core secret agent stuff. This guy is a machine. I've interviewed serial killers, hit men... Agent Gray-"

"-mmhmm-" she mumbles, listening intently.

"-by far the deadliest man I've ever met." He lowers his voice to a whisper before continuing. "He once killed a North Korean agent with a melon-baller."

"It was an ice-cream scoop, Castle."

The writer spins around, surprised by the voice behind him, to see an unassuming, short man leaning on the desk. After a brief conversation, Gray soon confirms that Fletcher was not CIA, but that is not what is floating through Beckett's mind as she pads through the bullpen.

A sex scene. He wrote a sex scene. A _racy_ sex scene! Between _them_!

She's already having issues getting him out of her head… and now this?!

Shit.

But she doesn't dwell on it long as she and Castle are literally cut off by a fiery, adolescent redhead.

"Dad! We need to talk."

The detective is stunned as Alexis grabs her father and drags him into Interrogation Room One. Standing frozen in the hallway, Beckett debates momentarily whether or not she should invade their privacy… but curiosity quickly wins out. After all, he's been poking around in her life for the past year. Karma's a bitch and turn-about's fair play.

She smirks to herself as she enters the observation room. Shutting the door behind her, she peers through the glass to see Castle sitting down at the table, looking small and defensive, Alexis leering at him, invading his space. He looks so small… so uncomfortable. She hesitates briefly, index finger hovering over the speaker button, before she presses down on the switch.

Alexis' strident voice reverberates off the walls. _"No, no, quiet. Am I a trouble-maker, Dad? Do I get drunk, disobey authority, steal police horses…"_

_"That-" _Castle begins only to be cut off.

_"...naked? No. That'd be you. I seem to be the only person in this family blessed with good judgment, and yet, you don't trust me."_

Wow. So this is how it is in the Castle family. The daughter raising her father.

Beckett's thoughts suddenly flash to her own father - how she had to rescue Jim from himself not that long ago. She wasn't that much older than Alexis is now...

A daughter saving her father.

Her hand unconsciously caresses the watch band around her left wrist as she continues to watch the teen tear a strip off her father. As uncomfortable as it is to behold, Beckett can't help but be slightly impressed by the girl's moxie… but her stomach also clenches when she notices the anguish behind Castle's eyes.

She's never seen this side of him - and it's slightly disconcerting.

_"I love you, Daddy, but I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't protect me from everything." _

Alexis' final words feel like a punch in the gut. Similar words fell from her lips at one time - when she thought she knew everything. Words she'd uttered before her life was turned upside down. Words she now wishes she hadn't said, but can't take back. She releases a slow breath - reading the shame that is painted across Castle's face - before leaving the observation room.

"She's good," she teases, entering the open doorway, attempting to lighten the mood. "She took you apart like a pro."

"You saw that?" he mumbles half-heartedly.

"Mmm-hmm…" she acknowledges with a light hum. "Through the glass." She pauses for a second, reading the pain on his face, realizing bravado is not helping. "It was actually kind of difficult to watch," she adds sympathetically.

He doesn't even look up, eyes glazed over. "Even harder to experience."

She never thought she'd see him this despondent. It's strange. She wants to poke him the way he has poked her forever, but she can't seem to bring herself to kick him when he's down. Like his armour has been stripped away, leaving him exposed and raw.

"So…" she mumbles, "do you need a minute, or can we get back to work?" Perhaps he needs a distraction. Burying herself in her job has always worked for her. But Castle just looks up, nothing but melancholy and despair in his eyes.

"I'll give you a minute," she acquiesces, leaving the room.

Apparently, her coping mechanisms for dealing with personal issues don't work for everyone.

* * *

This case is getting frustrating. Really frustrating. They stand around the slab, staring down at the faceless corpse.

"This body could or could not be a man whose alias is Steven Fletcher," Lanie states. She's got nothing else.

"But we saw him die," Beckett insists.

"Or did we?" the writer suggests.

Beckett shoots him a quick glance before looking down at the body once again, grinding her teeth. "I hate this case."

She walks off in a huff as Castle smiles gleefully. "I know… Isn't it great?"

Cons. Scams. Frauds. When the hell is this story going to make sense?

* * *

They both come to the same conclusion at the same time. "The con is still on!"

Elise had gone to the bank. Sue Vaughn is going to get away if they don't move quickly. They thank Mrs. Finnigan and run out of the house, Beckett pressing her phone to her ear.

"Espo? Call National Bank and Trust, 84th and Lex… yeah… Sue is Fletcher's partner."

She quickly climbs into her cruiser as Castle flops down on the seat beside her.

"Where're we headed?" he asks as the car roars to life. "Grand Central? JFK?"

"The bank," she says flatly, lighting up the gumball.

He grips the safety handle above the door as she turns the corner sharply. "You think we'll get there in time?"

"I've got a plan," she mutters, pressing her foot to the floorboard. "Sue Vaughn isn't the only person who can pull off a con."

She grips her phone, hits redial, and then hands the phone to Castle so she can keep both hands on the steering wheel.

_"Yo..." _the Latino's voice echoes from the speaker.

"Espo… patch me through to the bank. I need to talk to the manager. I've got an idea."

Castle just looks from the phone in his hand to her, and inquisitive expression written all over his face.

"You think you'll be able to con a con artist?" the writer asks.

"It's worth a try," Beckett replies, weaving around a taxi.

A report flashes across the screen on her dash. Sue's car's been spotted at a public parking lot not far from the bank. They arrive a few minutes later, eyes locked on the vehicle, waiting.

Soon enough, Sue appears in the mouth of the alleyway, briefcase in hand.

"Now?" the writer asks.

"Not yet," Beckett mutters into her CB radio. "Wait for my signal."

She gets out of her car, Castle following her lead, approaching the black luxury sedan, waiting for the right moment to strike. Standing just beyond the neighbouring car, they watch as Sue sits down behind the wheel and frantically opens the briefcase. The detective simply raises her arm and flicks her hand forward as she and Castle move in to approach the driver's side of the car.

The detective and writer lean down and look into the window, Beckett tapping her badge on the glass.

_Gotcha_.

The troops quickly surround the black car, Esposito pulling Sue out of the sedan to cuff her.

"You know, Detective Beckett here didn't think we could con a con artist," Castle remarks smugly, "but I told her you just weren't that smart." He's still talking, but Beckett has stopped actively listening as she turns her head to glare at him, shaking her head. That's not exactly how she remembers it.

As Esposito accompanies Sue to one of the cruisers, the bank manager approaches to thank Beckett. However, Castle finds himself shocked as Beckett runs her finger across her nose à la _The Sting_. The bank manager gestures back and Beckett chuckles as he walks away.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second," Castle remarks. "I thought you said you hated con movies."

"Oh, Castle," she smirks. "You are such an easy mark, aren't you?"

Wow, she's good. It takes a lot to surprise him, but that is hands down the best con of this whole case.

* * *

Beckett and Castle listen to the edited recording of the faked phone call, Ryan pressing stop just before Elise Finnigan rushes over. The heartbroken woman reels again at the fact that her fiancé is, in fact, dead, but it's Beckett's final statement that catches the author's attention.

"Elise. You need to know that Steven loved you very much. He changed his ways because you made him want to be a better man."

The writer can't help but listen intently to her words. How the words are being said. This is not a platitude. This is truth. She believes it.

She believes people can change.

There's still hope.

* * *

He bids her goodnight, leaving her to her alleged paperwork. Flimsy excuse. Who does she think she's conning?

He quickly doubles back, spying around the corner, just in time to see her rush into the Ladies' room holding a black bag. He narrows his eyes as a sly, satisfied grin tugs on the corner of his lips.

Like a stealth ninja, he opens the locker room door, watching the top of her head sink down below the wall of the second stall. He quietly creeps over to the first stall, sliding between the door and the short wall, hoping the muffled sounds of her opening her bag will stifle any inadvertent noises he might make.

He listens carefully, crouching beside the adjoining divider. There's a slight shuffle followed by the unmistakable sound of pages flipping.

A smug smile lights up his face. It's so obvious. She's looking for the sex scene.

And like a ninja, he decides the element of surprise is the optimal attack. He quickly pops his head up, peering at her over the top of the dividing wall. "Aha!"

Her sudden gasp amuses him, but the way she clutches the book tightly against her chest amuses him even more. He rarely gets to see her flustered. This is fun.

"Castle!" she whispers defensively, curling in on herself. "What're you doing here?"

"I knew you were reading it," he smirks.

She can do nothing but stutter half words. "I...wa…"

"It's on page 105, by the way." He raises his eyebrows playfully.

"Wh- what?"

"That sex scene you're looking for," he smoulders, relishing the way her jaw drops. "And Agent Gray was right. It's steamy."

"I wasn't-" she begins to protest, but Castle cuts her off with a nonchalant, "See you tomorrow."

The writer hops down from his perch, whistling as he leaves her alone. Leaves her with his words. Words inspired by her - words he hopes she'll dream of later tonight.

Because she might be better at playing the game… but he just changed the rules.

.

* * *

**So the primary school in question was not given a name. Believe me… I looked****, so I took the liberty to name it. **

**And since Alexis' high school was named after Andrew Marlowe, I opted to name this elementary school after Terri Miller. Seemed right. :)**

**. **

**Sorry about the length. There were too many great moments for me to milk.**

**.**

**Hope you liked it.**

**Judge away. )**


	5. When The Bough Breaks

**lv2bnsd assured me that lengthy chapters are okay... so here's another one.**

**There was just so much Casketty goodness in this ep - I couldn't _not_ write a lot! :P**

**I think I got all the typos, but they're sneaky... like ninjas!**

* * *

**EPISODE 5 - "WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS"**

His mind is racing. A certain British secret agent. A three book deal. And they're considering him. _Him_! As the details of the possible deal spill from Paula's crimson lips, Castle can't suppress the thrilled look from washing over his face - the excitedly wide eyes, the goofy grin.

It's like winning the lottery.

Cars… Gadgets… Guns... Babes galore… buxom blondes who get used like kleenex… sexy brunettes who seduce the spy… Kate Beckett kicking ass...

_Beckett? What the-?_ Suddenly, his ears are no longer registering what his book agent is blathering on about because he can't get a certain female NYPD detective out of his head.

But not Beckett.

No.

He's thinking about Nikki...

Nikki.

Really.

And he _should_ be thinking about his own character. The book launch for _Heat Wave_ is only a few days away. He _can't _be thinking about 007…

Paula plants a wet kiss on his other cheek - the matching lipstick smudges giving a sense symmetry to his face - as she tosses him a garish farewell and traipses to the door. But he doesn't register the deliberate sway of her hips, the sultry treble in her voice - because enticing yet … complicated ... thoughts of a particular British spy are flowing through his mind.

He shuts the front door behind his agent as she leaves, but his hand lingers momentarily on the doorknob as his thoughts are lost in a haze of confusion. This could be a dream come true. Last year, he would have killed for this opportunity.

But now?...

It... it just doesn't feel quite right. He wanders back to the kitchen, partially dazed. He picks up his cell phone and slowly scrolls through his contacts. As his thumb hovers over Beckett's number, his stomach flips slightly as he stares at her name. Why does this feel so wrong?

He shakes his head to clear the impugn thoughts from his brain. He quickly texts the detective, keeping the message short and to the point. '_Body drop? Where?' _ Done.

Receiving a reply less than minute later, the writer closes the text window, but his gaze lingers on the screen of his phone. His stomach continues to churn uncomfortably. He's never felt this particular sensation before. He feels as if… as if he's cheating on her. _No! _Not_ her! _Not _Beckett_... Nikki. Cheating on_ Nikki._

But Nikki's a fictional character. And he created her. And nothing has happened. So it's not cheating.

Nothing has happened.

Yet.

* * *

The uniform fills her in, walking her towards the body's location. "City workers found her when they opened the manhole to check the line."

The three detectives gather around the manhole, gazing down at the sludge-covered corpse. "Something tells me she didn't trip," Beckett observes solemnly.

Moving off to the side, the three detectives get out of the way so the team from the OCME can retrieve the body from the depths of the sewer.

"So…" Esposito remarks nonchalantly as he watches the action in front of him, "where's Castle?"

Beckett bites the inside of her cheek, extending her silence by taking a long sip of coffee.

"Did you call him?" Ryan asks, not waiting for an initial response as he watches the body being lifted out of the manhole, face cringing a bit due to the god-awful stench.

"Would you two stop pining for your boyfriend," she scoffs after swallowing the hot liquid. "Yes, I called him," she explains, voice laced with impatient sarcasm. "He didn't answer."

Esposito turns to shoot her a glance, his face awash with slight bewilderment. "Why not?"

"Dunno…" she shrugs as he looks back at the medical examiner's team. "Maybe he was out on a date last night and is otherwise occupied." The boys turn their heads in unison to look at her, faces laced with astonishment. "I don't really care."

The conversation falls flat then and there as she lifts the paper coffee cup to her lips to down another gulp. The boys just nod silently and return their attention to the recovery of the body - which is now on the M.E.'s stretcher, being examined by Perlmutter.

But her mind begins to stray focus. Why didn't Castle pick up when she called? He's always answers right away. Maybe he just got home. Perhaps he was sneaking in... trying to not get caught by his family… hoping to avoid the walk of shame. She can't repress a slight queasiness in her stomach at the thought that he might still in bed… cuddling with some blonde bimbo who he won't even remember tomorrow.

Not that she cares.

Because she doesn't.

At all.

Perlmutter and the boys are already discussing the initial findings when she joins them. Loading the body bag into the van, the crass M.E. snaps at Ryan - as per usual - but recovers his composure before addressing Beckett. "I should be able to get you a tighter window, maybe down to six or seven hours."

"Alright. Thank you."

Just as Perlmutter closes the doors of the OCME van, Beckett turns to see Castle approach.

"Ahh. Good morning," Ryan gibes.

Esposito follows up quickly with the tease. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence."

Beckett joins in the taunting, "Did you have something more important to do, Castle?"

"I got held up at home," he remarks nonchalantly.

He asks about the body, but Beckett tunes out slightly while the boys continue to taunt the writer. _Held up_? Maybe she _did_ interrupt something.

The knots in her stomach tighten, as does the grip around her coffee cup. She tries to refocus on the case, walk off the clenching in her gut, because she doesn't understand why she'd feel like this. Because she's not jealous.

She's not.

* * *

"Damn it," Beckett mutters under her breath as she opens her car door. They'd left the morgue almost two hours ago and this is the ninth little shop they'd been to so far in search of that mysterious candy wrapper, but they've struck out at each one.

At least, _she's _struck out.

Castle climbs into the passenger side of her cruiser with his newest purchase in hand. "Check it out, Beckett! The little chickens peck at the seeds!"

She looks over at the writer, an elated expression on his face as he spins a little paddle in his hand - the ball hanging below pulling on chords which makes the miniature chickens on the surface bob their heads in a pecking motion. She rolls her eyes as she puts the key in the ignition.

"Seriously, Castle?" she remarks, pulling into the flowing traffic. "We're looking for that candy."

"You're just jealous that you don't have a cool new toy," he smirks with a boyish grin, eyes dancing as he watches the toy move.

"Yes, that's it," she retorts flatly, voice oozing sarcasm. "You got me."

He shoots her an amused and teasing glance as he puts the toy back in its bag and pulls an Orion chocolate bar out of another.

She does a double-take as she looks at the unfamiliar packaging. "Where'd you get that?"

"Four shops ago," he shrugs, tearing the wrapper. "Wanna bite?" he holds it up as an offering.

"No… thank you," she refuses, taken aback. She pauses for a moment, slightly confused, before asking, "When did you get those stacking dolls then?"

"They're called Matryoshka dolls," he smirks, taking a teasing bite from the candy bar.

"Castle-" she warns.

"That little variety store on 73rd," he answers quickly, mumbling due to a mouthful of chocolate.

"The Russian Deli?"

"No… that's where I bought this awesome Czech beer!" he exclaims, pulling bottles of Braumeister and Berkshire Pilsner out of yet another bag. "The dolls were from the sixth store we went to - The Czech Center."

"So what'd you get at the seventh store then?"

"This." He holds up a miniature, hand-carved rocking horse.

"I'm actually kinda shocked you haven't bought a Russian bride yet, Castle... the rate you're going," she scoffs.

"Still got two or three stops left, Beckett," he grins. "I might get lucky."

He smiles to himself as she shakes her head, releasing a loaded sigh, refocusing on navigating the midmorning traffic. As much as he loves pushing her buttons, he can't seem to shake the gnawing feeling inside his chest. He loves this… this back and forth between them.

But what if he gets the offer to follow in Ian Fleming's footsteps? He'd have no reason to shadow Beckett anymore.

And he's not entirely sure if he really wants to let this go.

* * *

Her head is buried in a file when Montgomery approaches. "What is he doing?"

Beckett looks up at her captain who is, in turn, intrigued by the sight of Castle showing off his Matryoshka dolls to Karpowski. "We hit about a dozen little shops trying to find that candy wrapper, and he insisted on buying something in every shop."

Her captain chuckles, evidently amused by the boyish behaviour. "In every shop?"

"No wrapper, though."

"Well, something tells me if he decides to put the great candy wrapper hunt in his next book, he'll give it a happier ending," Montgomery remarks offhandedly.

It takes Beckett a split second to process what he just said. "Wait, sir, sir, wai- uh," she stutters, chasing him down. "_Next book?_ Is he writing another Nikki Heat novel? The deal was for one book. I assumed that-"

"-you were off the hook?" he finishes. "You know how the mayor feels about Castle. If the man is gonna write another book about you…"

"I am _not _Nikki Heat, sir," she interjects.

Montgomery, however, insists on her cooperation, leaving her standing there - flustered and perplexed. _Another_ book?! The deal was for one. _One!_ He was going to be off her case in a few days… out of her life! For good! Finally!

Because she's tired of having this man-child follow her around like a puppy!

Because she is _not_ Nikki Heat! She's not!

As Beckett silently contemplates her predicament, Ryan's voice snaps her back to reality.

"Yo," the Irishman states as the partners approach her desk. "Found your candy."

"You found it?" the writer remarks. "Get out of town."

The boys hand over a bag of lollipops to the author. While they inform Beckett about the grocery store where they located the candy, Castle immediately begins to unwrap one.

"I told you we should've checked the west end," he scoffs.

_Seriously?_ She shoots him an annoyed look, pursing her lips together. He's such a child. And now he might write a second book? She's never going to get rid of him. Ryan is going on about the vic, but all she can think about is the possibility of being immortalized in more novels… Nikki and Rook… page 105…

"Mmm. Kind of tastes like soap," Castle's voice interrupts the onslaught of thoughts as she turns to look at him. "I like it."

God, he's an irritating infant.

She doesn't want another Nikki Heat book. She doesn't want to be a muse. She doesn't want him around her anymore.

She doesn't.

* * *

He can't seem to fall asleep. He's been laying in bed for almost two hours, staring at the ceiling, but his brain won't shut off. His mother's sanctimonious voice continues to dance around in his head, stuck on repeat.

_'Oh, please, she'll be thrilled not to have you following her around. I'm sure the poor girl is counting down the days.'_

That can't be true.

Can it?

Castle restlessly turns onto his right side, burying his cheek in his pillow. He shuts his eyes, but he's unable to block the diva's last words from permeating his mind.

_'I'm sure she got along fine before you arrived.'_

She has. He knows she has. Her brain is one of the sexiest things about her. But he's helped her solve some tough cases. Helped her think outside the box every so often. Come up with theories that have sometimes led them in the right direction. He's even made her laugh once in a while.

He's been useful. He's sure of it.

Plus, there's a connection between them.

A _professional_ connection.

Opening his eyes, he stares across his room, shadows not completely masking the large photo of the elephant which adorns his wall. He gazes at the image of the pachyderm for a brief moment. It makes him think of the elephants sitting on her desk.

Connection.

It's undeniable.

He can see it. _ Why can't anyone else?_

Crestfallen, he releases an elongated huff, flopping once more onto his back, resting his hands on top of his chest as he stares at the ceiling once again. Only a few more days until the book comes out. And then that's it.

His mind races with questions. Will she actually be happy to have him out of her life? Will she miss him at all? Will he be able to write without her around to inspire him? He drums his fingers against his sternum, eyes wide, as question after question flash through his head. Questions without answers. And that concerns him.

Because maybe it's true.

Maybe she'll be glad to get rid of him.

He turns over on to his left side, pulling his comforter up to his chin and closing his eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his own breathing - purposefully attempting to drown out the obnoxious voices in his head.

He doesn't want to think about it anymore.

Because he doesn't know what he wants.

* * *

He can't believe it. It's not even 9:00am and she's already figured out at which playground the mutilated picture was taken.

Castle swallows lightly, agreeing that getting the boys to canvass the park would probably be a good idea, when her cell phone rings.

She shoots him a sarcastic glance. "Oh, look. Esposito's calling," she scoffs, her narrowed eyes not leaving his as she picks up the phone. "Wonder what he and Ryan have been doing all morning."

He watches her answer the call, "Hello? No, it's just Castle…." but her words echo in his head as she walks away from her desk, leaving him alone with his overactive imagination to taunt him relentlessly.

_'It's just Castle… just Castle… '_

It feels as though she just knocked the wind from his sails. She seems to get along just fine without him. _'Just Castle.' _

_Just._

His head begins to spin with disconcerting, hypnotic thoughts. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe the detective won't miss him at all. Uncertainties and doubts begin to flood his subconscious when a sudden snapping of fingers wakes him from his trance.

"_Castle!"_

He quickly glances up to see Beckett towering above him, an indignant look in her eyes. "Huh?"

"For the third time… _are you coming?"_

"Uhhh…" he utters for a second before nodding, "yeah… yeah."

The detective simply releases a heavy, exasperated sigh as she turns away and heads for the elevator, the writer quickly chasing behind her.

He'd better get it together. Quick.

He may not be entirely sure what he wants, but zoning out like that is not going to win him any popularity points.

* * *

Hands shaking, Teodor Hajek pulls a picture from his wallet and hands it to Beckett. Castle glances over at the photograph as the man speaks again, voice cracking as he chokes on his heavily accented words. "This was my family. We were happy once. Now they're gone from me, both of them… gone."

Castle feels his heart break for the man sitting across the table. A father who lost his child, and now lost a beloved wife. He can't imagine such pain. To lose everyone you hold dear. Everything important. Your family.

His mind wanders to thoughts of Alexis. She's the best part of his life. She's the only thing that has made his life important for any reason.

He wonders how devastated - how completely shattered - he would be if anything ever happened to her.

He looks over at the woman sitting beside him. For a brief moment, a similar thought crosses his mind. She's not family. And it's not like he loves her… but...

..._would_ he be upset if something were to happen to Beckett?

Pondering the thought, he shoots another glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

He wasn't all that bothered when Meredith rejected him, when he divorced Gina… or even when Kyra left. But Beckett?

They're not even a couple.

So why does the thought of losing her hurt so much?

* * *

Wandering the hallway of the dilapidated apartment, Beckett can't help but think about the man following close behind her, the heat of him radiating against her back.

Another Nikki Heat book. He's planning to write another book about her and never bothered to tell her. For a man who has the ego the size of Texas and lives to boast about the size of his… _talent_... she finds it a bit odd - curious even - that he's holding back.

She needs answers. Needs to know. Now. She steels herself and pivots on her heel to face him. "Can I ask you a question, Castle?"

"I already know what you're going to ask," he remarks offhandedly. "The dress code for the party is evening cocktail. If you're stumped, just ask yourself, what would Nikki Heat wear?"

_What would Nikki Heat wear?! _Presumptuous, arrogant jerk. It's always about him.

She opts to cut to the chase. "When were you gonna tell me about the other book?"

"You heard about that?" He seems a bit surprised she's asking. Did he honestly think it was going to be a secret forever?

"So it's true?" she demands.

"Well, it's not a done deal yet."

He's so blasé about it. What a smug, cocky son-of-a-bitch. "Well, did it ever occur to you to talk to me first?"

"Well, frankly, I thought you'd be relieved," he states, a tone of genuine shock in his voice.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," she retorts, rolling her eyes. What a pompous, conceited-

"Well, I mean, I'm flattered to even be considered," the writer counters, interrupting her thoughts. "Writing a certain British secret agent would be a very big opportunity for me."

A _what now...?_

"I was talking about Nikki Heat," she remarks.

"Oh..." The look on his face makes it quite clear. They have_ not_ been talking about the same thing. At all.

"Wait a minute," she processes. "A certain British secret agent? Are you...?"

"If they actually offer it to me. They may not."

"Yeah…" she stammers, pressing her lips together, "but if they do?"

"Well, I would certainly consider it," he states, trying to read her. "Like I said, I thought you'd be relieved."

"I _am_," she insists. "I mean, I would be... if they offered it to you."

She swallows, lost in thought, as Ryan and Esposito approach, halting their conversation. James Bond. He might write a series of James Bond novels. Which means he wouldn't be writing Nikki Heat anymore.

This is what she's been wanting for so long. He'd be done shadowing her. Out of her life.

It's what she's been waiting for.

Praying for.

So why is her stomach tying itself up in knots?

* * *

Talbot's alibi was tight, but this new lead about Eliska's past might shed some light on the investigation.

But it's getting late and they're not going to get their hands on the old incident report until morning. "Well, whatever the complaint is," Beckett considers, addressing the boys, "I'm gonna need the two of you to pick it up first thing in the morning."

Great. Paper work to start the day. Just what they wanted. Ryan and Esposito exchange tired glances, but Castle's quick to fix the melancholy.

"Guys, I've got two words to tide you over in the meantime: Open bar." He slides his shades over his eyes, highlighting his badboy image that he's come to embrace.

Beckett shoots an awkward glance from her chair as Esposito just nods his approval. "Free booze and sexy chicas? Count me in, Bro." Castle ecstatically offers his fingers for the Latino to feed.

"Sounds good to me," Ryan agrees, patting Espo on the back as the two head to their desks to grab their coats.

Castle turns to face Beckett - who is completely focused on her computer screen. "What about you, Beckett," he asks with a smug grin. "You coming?"

She doesn't avert her gaze. "Where?"

Castle whips his sunglasses from his face, completely flabbergasted. "_Where? _The book launch party? _Heat Wave?"_

"Castle, some of us have to work for a living," she responds dryly.

"Come on, Beckett," he presses, dropping his glasses on her desk. "It's _one night_."

She shoots him an unimpressed glare before refocusing on her paperwork.

"What's the matter, Detective?" he teases. "Afraid of having a little fun?"

She narrows her eyes as she releases a slow huff, pressing her tongue tight against the back of her teeth. She can sense his piercing stare burning the side of her face. She doesn't turn her head, but placates him with a mutter. "When I finish up here, I _might_ make an appearance."

Castle happily tightens his fist, trying to contain his excitement, as he almost jumps out of the chair. "Well, in that case, don't let me disturb you."

She shifts her gaze to glance over the top of her monitor, watching him head for the back elevator, her heart racing a mile a minute.

It's real. A book written by her favourite author, inspired by her. About her. And now everyone else on the planet is going to be able to read it.

Oh god… _the sex scene!_

She starts to blanch at the prospect of her friends… co-workers… Montgomery… her father… reading page 105. However, at the same time, she can't suppress the smile from forming. She bites her bottom lip sensually as she recollects the wave of heat that assaulted her as she read the words a few days ago. Allowed them to coat her body, suffuse her senses.

A wave of heat.

Fitting.

She's tempted. Tempted to show up in something _Nikki Heat would wear_ just to tease him. Tantalize him. Provoke him. If he's going to move on and write about James Bond, there's no reason she can't have fun with it. Make him see exactly what he'd be missing.

Besides… getting him riled up is her specialty. And it's so easy.

Rising from her desk, she hastily grabs her coat from the back of her chair and heads for the elevator. She'll make an appearance.

And it's going to be one he never forgets.

* * *

Esposito holds out his beer bottle to clink it against Castle's champagne flute. "Awesome party, Bro."

Castle answers with a satisfied grin, putting down his glass to sign the front cover of a book that was just shoved in front of him.

"Yeah, thanks for inviting us," Ryan adds, shooting one of the waitresses a wimpy smile.

"Dude," the Latino remarks, slapping his partner's chest as Castle is dragged away by some reporters. "She is way outta your league."

"Whaddya mean?" Ryan retorts. "She's a waitress-"

"-at a midtown party," Espo smirks, taking a swig of his beer. "_Everyone_ here is outta your league."

Ryan doesn't respond with words - he simply nods his head in acquiescence and checks out a fan girl whose chest is being autographed by the writer at that very moment. The two resign themselves to sitting at the bar, nursing their beers.

"So this is how the other half lives," Esposito sighs, admiring a stunningly female ass that saunters by.

"Castle should write a _How To..._ book next," Ryan bemoans as he takes a gulp of his brew, completely ignored by the two busty bombshells who pass right by without so much as acknowledging his existence. "He would make a fortune."

Esposito can do nothing but nod in agreement, the men clinking the necks of their beer bottles together, each taking a swig in unison.

* * *

Castle goes through the motions. Autographing books. Signing chests. Smiling for the cameras. He puts on a good front, but he can't help but be slightly distracted.

Everyone is here. Ryan. Esposito. Even Montgomery.

But no Beckett.

He feels... dejected. The woman who inspired his new success - his muse - didn't come to celebrate the launch of his book. _Her_ book. He signs another chest, flashing his most debonaire and flirtatious of smiles, but his heart just isn't in it.

Everywhere he looks, he's surrounded by her. _Heat Wave_. Nikki Heat. But the detective he really wants to celebrate is Beckett. The time ticks by and the party finds its groove. The onslaught of attention seekers has ebbed somewhat. Castle's able to sit down, relax, chat with a fellow writer. The two of them hunker down in a corner booth, out of the limelight and away from the noise. They chat about stories, characters… a woman brings another book to have him sign… but he's not really hearing a lot of what's being said around him.

It's getting late. Maybe she won't co-

_"Hey! It's Nikki Heat!"_

The exuberant exclamation from the doorway draws his immediate attention. It can't be. But it is. His breath catches in his throat as he watches her stride in. Tight blue cocktail dress with a vee-cut neckline that leaves little to the imagination... hair softly curled... legs that go on forever… and a facial expression she tries to mask - one that tells him she'd rather be anywhere but staring down a photographer's lens.

But the way_ she_ looks? There's nobody else in the room worth photographing anymore now that she's arrived. And the photographers swarm.

He makes a mental note to ask Paula about getting his hands on some of those photos.

His heart beat begins to race as he observes her from across the room. He's sure he's staring, but he can't help it. She came. She's here. And she looks like _that_?!

Is she _trying_ to kill him?

He excuses himself, eyes locked on his muse who is heading towards a display of books. He can't help the giddy smile from forming, the twinkle in his eye. She's going to check out the dedication. And he wants to see - no..._ savour_ - the look on her face.

Paula sidles up to him, grabbing his arm. "That's her?" she asks with an air of intrigue.

"That's her," he confirms, voice deep and husky, eyes washing over Beckett's lithe form.

"Huh. That is one hell of a love letter you wrote her," she remarks sarcastically. "Geez, one night in Ibiza and what do I get? A chapter in _Storm Fall_?"

"A very hot chapter," he retorts. And what is she talking about? _'Love letter?'_ The novel is not a love letter!

Is it?

"And she gets a whole book? She must be a pretty special girl," his brash agent remarks.

He can't suppress the adoring grin as he watches the detective pick up one of the books, fingers smoothing delicately over the dust jacket. _Special_ doesn't even scratch the surface of the wonderful enigma that is Kate Beckett.

"Let me ask you something," Paula continues, "when she calls you, do you call her back?"

"Yeah." He doesn't understand the nature of the question.

"Of course you do. Because she's important to you and because it's polite."

"Paula, I call you back," he placates.

"Three-book deal, and I can't even get you on the phone to let you know you've got an official offer?"

An offer? Wha-? He hardly registers what she's saying. James Bond. They want _him_ to write James Bond!

But… what about Beckett? NO! _Nikki! What about Nikki?_

He stammers a bit before finding his words. "Paula, I'm sorry. This is... this is a big step for me. I don't know that I'm ready to walk away from Nikki Heat."

"Who?" his agent taunts. "The one on the page or the one standing over there in that Hervé Léger dress?"

"The one... on... the page," he chokes. Nikki. He's talking about Nikki.

He is.

"Oh, Rick…" Paula sighs. "Are you sleeping with her?"

What kind of a question is that? "No!"

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for? So get it out of your system, and then come down to the office and sign the damn contract, okay?"

Her fingertips gingerly pat his face before she saunters away, but Castle can't shake her words from his head. '_Get it out of your system._' That's not what he wants. She is his muse. His friend. Kate Beckett is _not _a conquest. That hasn't even crossed his mind.

...lately.

But there she is. Standing there. Looking so incredibly sultry and delicious. A vixen with a badge. His brain is saying one thing but his body is speaking quite loudly too, and he can't seem to drown out either one. He watches her open the cover of the book, an adorably lovely smile tugging on her lips as she flips to the dedication page.

There it is. The moment he's been waiting for.

She gasps slightly - awed - and he beams happily. His words took Kate Beckett's breath away.

He slinks up behind her, inhaling her enticing scent of vanilla and jasmine. Being so close to her sends electricity racing through him.

"Hey," he whispers softly in her ear, voice deep and delicious.

"Hey. I... I was just, uh…" she stammers, closing the book. "The, uh, the dedication, wow. Thank you."

_'To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th.' _ He's never before written anything more truthful, honest, and sincere.

"I meant it," he smiles warmly. "You are extraordinary." His heart flutters as she beams at him, her eyes glistening and bright and jubilant.

This feels so perfect. So right.

Until it all goes so very, very wrong.

* * *

So the ungrateful woman _wants_ him to write James Bond? Fine by him.

"You know what?" he digs. "Just as well, because there really wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel anyway."

"Oh, there's _plenty_ to the character," she counters, voice stinging and eyes shooting daggers. "She just needs a better writer."

If that's the way she feels.

"Fine," he sneers, staring her down.

"Fine," she jeers, challenging him.

Not another word is spoken as they break away from each other, rage stirring as they head in opposing directions.

He heads to the bar and grabs a shot of vodka. Throwing it down his throat, the burning sensation of the alcohol a welcome salve, he turns around in a huff - only to watch his muse march past the sea of paparazzi and head straight for the exit.

What a bitch.

He writes a book about her, tells her she's extraordinary, and all she can do is insult him? Who the hell does she think she is?!

He signals for a refill and slams back the second shot. _'A better writer'? _Who the fuck does she think she's talking to? He poured his heart and soul on to every single page of that book and she thinks she can do better than him?! His heart and soul…

_Fuck._

Elbows propped on the marble surface of the bar, he buries his face in his hands, breathing deeply. Slowly.

Paula's right.

It _is _a love letter.

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

* * *

Arms crossed in front of her chest, she releases a heated huff as she stares out the window of the taxi cab.

_'There really wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel anyway.'_

His words echo in her head, reverberating through her mind. Her arms clench tighter as she watches the glimmer of lights emblazon the darkened Manhattan streetscape.

Jackass.

She presses her lips together, perturbed and angry and frustrated.

Not enough to the character? What the hell?! He follows her around for almost a year like a puppy dog and suddenly decides that she's boring?... Uninteresting?... _Uninspiring?!_

Whatever.

Now he can move on and semi-stalk someone else in the name of research.

_Research_. Yeah, right.

Good riddance. It's not like she even wants him around anyway.

She doesn't.

So why does it feel like he just punched her in the gut?

The Hervé Léger dress that had originally given her the confidence to face the onslaught of paparazzi when she arrived at the event now feels tight. Uncomfortable. Constricting.

She stares out the window, flashes of car lights and street lamps illuminating the obscure shadows of the night, but her eyes do not register her surroundings.

Extraordinary.

That's what he'd written. That's what he'd said. He called her extraordinary. And the way he looked at her, standing so close, adoration in his eyes. And he'd smelled so good. And _looked_ so good.

And he'd called her _extraordinary_.

Oh god.

She takes a deep breath but fails to calm the erratic palpitations of her heart as she unconsciously begins to chew on the tip of her thumb.

_'I was thinking..._'

His words reverberate in the depths of her mind as she recalls how his gorgeous cerulean blue eyes - like glowing sapphires - pierced her own with such intensity as if she was the only other person in the room.

For a moment, she thought she might have felt something. She'd never felt anything like it before - her heart racing unexpectedly, her breath catching in her throat. The electricity. And maybe he felt it too… _shit._

_'What man has ever turned you away?'_

Those words stung. What does he know? He_ thinks_ he knows her. Thinks he knows her so well. But she's still got her mysteries… her secrets. There's so much about her that he's never discovered.

He has _no idea_.

But that doesn't matter now, because he's done with her. He's moving on. She'll finally be free of him.

Finally.

It's what she's wanted for almost a year. It was an uphill battle, but she won the game.

So why does she feel like she just lost the war?

* * *

He rides up the elevator at the 12th precinct, fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. Watching the numbers increase slowly, he checks his watch - for the sixth time in less than twenty seconds. This has got to be the longest elevator ride ever.

His stomach clenches tightly. In and out. Grab his sunglasses. He wants to be quick. But what if Beckett is here? He's not entirely sure if he wants to see her or not. And that's the thought which is torturing him.

And if he does see her, what should he say?

_Shit._

He startles as the elevator chimes, the doors sliding open. Tentatively, he peers around the corner, scanning the Homicide bullpen.

No Beckett.

He pads down the hall, cautiously approaching her desk. He surveys the area one last time. Karpowski's at her desk. The boys are at their station. But she's not here.

He's not sure if he's happy about that or not… until her harsh voice echoes behind him.

"What are you doing here, Castle? Don't you have bigger, more lucrative fish to fry?"

The contempt in her tone? Well… _that _certainly makes it easier.

"Actually, I just left my sunglasses here yesterday," he notes unfeelingly.

"Oh, please, that is the lamest excuse I have ever-"

She holds her tongue as she watches Castle pick his sunglasses up off her desk.

"You know what? While you're at it, don't forget those." She nods towards the Matryoshka dolls on her desk and walks off to address Ryan and Esposito.

He wants to rail her. But he bites his tongue. He doesn't need Nikki Heat. He's got James Bond. 007. The spy of spies. Gadgets… gizmos… guns… girls…

He doesn't need her.

But as he puts the dolls back inside each other, he can't help but eavesdrop as the detectives discuss their case. Something Karpowski says strikes him as odd.

"You're still here." Her voice cuts like a knife.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he holds back, because he knows the way to bridge the gap between himself and Beckett's is through her case. He looks over at the other female detective. "Karpowski, did the super say she was paid up to Friday?"

"That's what he said," she confirms.

"That doesn't make any sense," he mutters catching Beckett's attention. "That place rents by the week. She was killed last Thursday."

"How could she be paid up through this coming Friday?" she processes.

"Maybe we should ask?" he offers.

She grabs her gun and keys and heads for the elevator. "Let's go."

He smiles gleefully as he chases to catch up.

He's leaving, but at least they can part ways as friends.

* * *

The minutes tick by as they patiently watch Eliska's apartment building for Mrs. Talbot to pick up the mail. And they would have never even known about it if they hadn't spoken to the super… without Castle making that connection.

It pains her to admit it to herself, but he does have his moments.

They sit in the car. Waiting. Just waiting. In typical Castle fashion, he can't help but try to connect the dots. Write the story. And he does make valid observations. It could be a threatening letter from Mrs. Talbot - or anything else for that matter.

But for once, his theory might not be too far gone.

"The irony is it never would have connected them," the detective explains. "We don't go through a victim's mail unless there's probable cause and a warrant first."

"Thank you."

Not the reaction she was expecting. "For what?" she asks.

"For using 'irony' correctly. Ever since that Alanis Morissette song people use it when they actually mean 'coincidence.' Drives me nuts!"

"Yeah, well, it must be your great grammatical influence over me," she scoffs playfully.

"I may be going," he smiles warmly, "but I'm leaving something of myself behind."

She can't help but smile in response, but her eye contact waivers. This is it. He's really leaving. She thought that's what she wanted, but now she's not so sure.

She looks over at him again, his face turned away, peering out the window, expressionless. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. What is she supposed to say? That she was wrong? That she wants him around?

He does make her smile... sometimes. And he has come in useful… once in a while. And he's actually fun to be around… on his better days.

Her mouth shuts of its own volition as her mind blanks, her throat dries.

Why is she never able to say what she's really thinking?

She takes a deep breath instead, resigning herself to embracing the uncomfortable silence - thoughts gnawing at her - before her job takes over again.

Story of her life.

* * *

The case quickly unfolds as all of the pieces fall into place.

The good doctor's alibi falls apart. The warrant comes in for the mysterious letter and the truth about Eliska's son is revealed.

The murderer is unmasked.

L.T. leads Cameron Talbot to holding, cuffs tight around the murderer's wrists, while Melissa Talbot is escorted out of the break room. Beckett can do nothing but watch as Officer Velasquez walks her slowly to the elevator, the distraught woman almost unable to hold herself up due to the shock.

Her husband is a murderer. Her son is not her own.

Beckett can't even imagine how devastating that must be. To find out the person you trust the most in the world - you life partner - deceived you. Is not who you thought they were.

Her heart breaks for the poor woman whose world has just shattered.

And for the woman who was murdered just because she was trying to find out the truth.

She shakes her head one last time, looking up at Castle. His somber eyes meet hers, but both remain silent. There's nothing to say. She heads into Montgomery's office, the writer right beside her - she never thought she'd ever get used to it, but his constant presence has become quite reassuring.

And she's going to lose it soon.

There are so many aspects to closing this case that just don't sit well with her.

Filling in her captain about Eliska's investigation into her son's true identity, Beckett can't help but be impressed by the young woman's tenacity. Her determination to find out the truth.

But, despite her efforts, was unable to get closure for her family.

A tale all too familiar to her.

"The way we figure it, she got the job on the hospital cleaning crew solely to get access to the birth records. She made it her mission to find out the truth," Castle explains.

Montgomery can't help but be saddened considering the price the woman paid for seeking the truth. "Even if it cost her her life? Seems so pointless, somehow."

But Beckett knows what it's like to be that driven. To seek the truth. To want answers no matter the cost. And though she can't give closure to Eliska, she's pretty sure she can give closure to someone else.

"Maybe not," she muses, Castle looking at her inquisitively. "I need to make a call."

He catches on a moment later as they leave Montgomery's office. "The father?" he asks, following the detective to her desk.

She smiles at him affirmatively as she picks up her phone receiver, flipping open her case file to look up Melissa Talbot's number.

* * *

The detective and writer silently observe the scene play out before them. Watching Teodor Hajek interact with his young, estranged son - Melissa Talbot smiling tenderly beside him on the couch - is heartwarming… magical even.

The two exchange knowing looks, and without a word, leave the apartment, allowing the new, unorthodox family to find their way.

Beckett's stomach churns uncomfortably. It's over. Done. Suddenly it becomes so real. Too real. And she's not sure if she's ready to say goodbye yet. But she can't bring herself to say the words that stick in her throat.

Descending the stairs, she searches for something to say. Anything.

"Thank you, Castle," she mutters finally. "I, uh, I never would have been able to solve this case without your help."

The stunned look on his face makes her grin softly. She didn't expect this. Didn't think she'd want him gone. But here it is. She's gotten used to him.

And he's leaving.

It's ironic. All she's ever wanted for almost a year now was for him to stop talking… but now, his silence is so very uncomfortable and disconcerting. She wants to hear his voice. Just once more.

"Well, uh…" she stammers, not able to hold his steady gaze, "good luck on your new book. I know that you'll do it proud."

His eyes glimmer as he stares back at her, evidently torn as to what to say. A writer without words.

"Thanks," is all he manages to utter, tone genuine and sincere.

He stares at her, the piercing gaze causing her heart to beat erratically. His lips quiver, mouth opening slightly, but no words come out. She wants him to speak - hopes he can find the words that she can't. She stares back at him, searching his eyes, the silence thick between them - simultaneously awkward and serene and heavy.

Her heart is in her throat.

She wants to say everything - for the words that are crashing through her head to spill out from her lips... but they're both at a loss for words.

Breaking the stalemate at last, Castle holds out his hand in front of her. She pauses for a brief moment, looking down at it. Studying it. The fingers that typed all of the words of her favourite stories. The very hand that held the pen that was used to autograph one of her books so long ago. Those strong hands that she has admired for so long - even fantasized about from time to time.

But _this_ is not how her fantasies ever ended.

Reaching out, his large hand envelops hers, dwarfing it. As her palm fuses with his, shivers jolt down her spine as the sensation of his grip tightens - like he's holding on to a life line, not wanting to let go.

"You take care of yourself," he chokes out, eyes saying so much more than his words are. He inhales slightly before adding, "And-"

But he doesn't have time to finish his thought as he's interrupted by the shrill ring of his cell phone.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her cell begins to ring as well.

The Universe is cruel.

* * *

Her captain is on the other end of the line, going on about the mayor and helping out the department, but she's not really paying attention to what her boss is saying - until he mentions that Mayor Wheldon wants Castle to continue shadowing her for a bit longer… since it'll be good press prior to his re-election.

"He wants me to _what_?" Beckett exclaims, pivoting quickly, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Apparently _Heat Wave _is doing so well that his publishers want to continue the series for at least another three books," Montgomery reveals, a playful lilt in his voice.

She shoots a glare at the writer as she squeezes her cell. "Three books?" she growls into her phone. "That would take forever!"

"You already spoke to the mayor?" Castle mutters into his own phone, not quite processing what Paula is telling him.

Overhearing his statement, Beckett spins quickly, daggers shooting from her retinas. "I'm gonna kill you," she hisses.

"Detective?" Montgomery's stringent voice echoes in her ear. Oops.

Hasty and apologetic, Beckett stammers into her phone, fingers awkwardly tracing the lines of her jaw in embarrassment. "No, no, no, no, sir," she insists, "I wasn't talking to you. I, uh…"

Well done, Beckett. Put foot firmly in mouth and chew.

"Alright then, Detective," the captain utters, letting her mishap slide. "I'm sure the Mayor will want to thank you."

Glaring at the writer as she speaks to her captain, Beckett weighs her words with a viperish, bitter sting. "No need to thank me, sir. I am happy to help His Honor out in any way I can."

Before she can put her foot in her mouth again, she ends the call, glowering at Castle as he attempts to talk to his agent. But her murderous scowl leaves him overly flustered.

"Y- you know what?" he stutters into his phone as she strides towards him, eyes narrowed and lips tight. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under right now. "I think... I'm gonna... O- okay, Paula, I'm gonna... I'll call you. I'll call you back."

Quickly ending the call, he defensively insists, "I had nothing to do with that phone call."

_Really? _She's about to tear a strip off of him before he's saved by the bell… or the cell, to be precise… as her phone interrupts again.

"What?!" she shouts indignantly into the speaker, not breaking her pernicious stare.

"It's Esposito. We got a body... 64th and Lex."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

She hastily ends the call and turns to leave. If he wants to shadow her, the ball's in his court.

Dumbstruck, the writer's feet remain planted as words finally pour from his mouth. "Where are you going?"

"That was Esposito," she answers flatly as she heads towards the exit. "There's been a murder." Halting in her tracks, she can't help but smirk. She gets to keep working with him but doesn't have to admit to him that she wants him around.

Point: Beckett.

Steeling herself, she spins around to face the author, face cold as stone. "Are you coming or what?"

Castle says nothing.

She ensures her body language and posture says that she's unimpressed, but her heart flips happily as he responds simply by moving his feet, chasing her.

As always.

Game on.

* * *

xxxxx

**So that's my take on the ever-popular-for-fics book launch party... Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Judge away. :)**


	6. Vampire Weekend

**I considered jumping on the 6x17 post-ep bandwagon… for about 3 seconds. ****But so many great fics were written, so I'm going to stick with this Season 2 series. :D**

**If you are interested in reading some "In The Belly of the Beast" fics, here are a couple I really liked:**

*** "Thaw" by brookemopolitan**

*** "Almost Heaven" by chezchuckles**

*** "The Letter" by Liv Wilder**

**So…. on with Season 2...**

* * *

**EPISODE 6 - "VAMPIRE WEEKEND"**

Vampires?

_Seriously?_

Beckett leaves Lanie to finish the preliminary examination, heading back to her car, weaving around the gravestones - Castle close at her heels.

"How cool is this?!" he exclaims, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning as he hops into the passenger side of her cruiser. "Our victim is a real, live vampire… uh… well… not live… but… uh…" he stammers as Beckett shoots him an unimpressed glare. "You know what I mean."

She responds solely with a patented roll of the eyes and shake of her head. He's incorrigible. "He's not a vampire, Castle," she remarks flatly, starting the car.

"And yet, he has fangs," the writer retorts playfully.

"Keep this up," she threatens, huffing her evident frustration, "and you'll see my fangs too..."

"Promise?" he teases with a cocky grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

She bites her tongue, grip tightening on the steering wheel. She can't help it. He's ridiculously annoying, yet looks so incredibly hot in that long brown coat. And the suspenders…and the boots… the way they accent the tight, muscular lines of his body. The way his soft, silky hair flops across his forehead - like a bit of a rebel. A suave and dangerous renegade. She's always had a thing for bad boys, and this look was really doing it for h-

_WHOA! WHOA ! WHOA!_

What the fuck is she thinking? This is Castle!_ Castle_! He's not some outlaw cowboy or rebellious smuggler! He's a writer!

_A writer!_

She takes in a slow, steady breath as she pulls up in front of his building to drop him off.

"Meet you at the morgue in the morning?" he asks while exiting the car.

"Mmhmm…" she affirms weakly, chewing on her bottom lip as he closes the door.

She's never been more happy about the dim streetlights on Broome - masking the heat rising in her cheeks - as she watches him walk towards the front door of his apartment building.

Good god, his ass looks delicious in those tight pants.

Returning to her apartment to settle in for the evening, she pours herself a nice glass of merlot and peruses her bookcase for something to read for an hour or so before bed. But the vision of Castle in that coat… those pants… she licks her lips hungrily and opts instead to give into her inner geek…

Her tongue traces the edge of her mouth, the movement quite sensual, relishing the taste of the wine - as much as the memory of the writer's scrumptious rear-end - as she heads for her bedroom.

She smiles as she pushes her _Nebula-9_ DVD case to the side and picks up her copy of _Firefly _off her shelf. Maybe just one episode tonight. She pops in a disc and settles into her bed, a hungry grin tugging on her lips.

Castle did _actually_ look_ really_ sexy as Malcolm Reynolds… not that she'd ever tell him that.

* * *

God, he loves Phantasmagorium. Such an awesome shop… he can't believe Beckett's never even heard of the place. Skulls, cross-bows, chains, swords… and slutty nurse costumes. It's heaven on earth.

As Fang-Master Frank heads for the backroom to get Crow's personal information, Castle can't help but play a bit. And with so many props at his disposal?

Let the games begin.

He turns his back to the detective, picking up a set of fangs off the display.

"Castle, what are you doing?" he hears Beckett ask as he pops the plastic fangs into his mouth.

He spins around to face her, playing dumb. "Do these make me look immortal?"

Reading the stunned look on her face, he decides to up the ante. Eyes sweeping over her lithe form, he takes a step towards her. "Do you want to, uh, go get something pierced?"

"No…" she replies, voice oozing with sensuality. Her eyes flash down, raking over his body, lustful heat bleeding from her tantalizing glare. "Do you?

His words stick in his throat as he watches her raise an eyebrow suggestively. "Uh, wow," he gulps. He didn't expect that.

The prompt return of Dr. Frank rescues him from imminent embarrassment, because the way she was just looking at him - she looked like she wanted to… to…

Good god, all this talk of fangs and teeth and biting must be going to his head, because the idea of Kate Beckett's mouth on his skin, imagining the way her teeth would feel grazing his throat, tongue soothing his flesh as she nips at his neck…

Castle suddenly finds it very hot in the boutique, his head spinning.

"You coming, Castle?"

The writer snaps out of his trance to look up at Beckett who's holding the front door open, waiting for him to follow. He quickly exchanges an awkward smile with the dentist - who is staring at him inquisitively from behind the counter - before rushing to catch up to the detective who has already impatiently left the store.

He feels instant relief as he exits the shop, taking a deep breath as the cool, crisp autumn air wafts over his body.

Shit.

He may never be able to shop at Phantasmagorium ever again without needing a cold shower afterwards.

* * *

Looking around Crow's apartment, Castle can't help but be impressed by the young man's talent as an artist - the remarkable drawings and paintings adorning the walls. Pencil sketches, watercolours, pen and ink, charcoal. And very powerful, profound subjects.

"Oh…" he muses aloud, "he was quite the artist."

"Yeah," the landlady confirms, "but mostly comic books."

Castle smiles at the mention of comics. "Reminds me of early Frank Miller."

"Which Frank?" Beckett remarks nonchalantly from across the room. "Epic Comic or Dark Horse years?"

_What now?_ Beckett knows her comic lore?!

So hot!

Castle spins around to face her. "Oh, my God. That is the sexiest thing I ever heard you say. I had no idea you were interested in comic books."

"Oh, Castle," she teases, "the things you don't know about me could fill a book."

He grins at the comment, but can't help but recall how he'd quarrelled with her at his book launch party not too long ago - telling her that there wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel. Her sneering back at him that there was plenty to the character and that his talent as a writer was sub-par.

It was a superficial, childish and stupid fight... yet they came close to destroying their... partnership? Friendship?

Well, whatever it is they have.

But he's relieved they got past it, because he can't imagine writing any other character at this point in his life. James Bond may have been his inspiration to become a writer in the first place, but Kate Beckett inspires him now.

And she never ceases to amaze or astound him.

And the fact that she's a fan of graphic novels? He didn't think she could possibly be any sexier, but he was wrong.

Kate Beckett - closet geek? Yeah…

So very hot.

* * *

Weaving through The Den of Iniquity as they search for Vixen, Castle swallows sharply at the sensation of female hands raking over his body. He can't help but be both a bit uncomfortable yet fascinated with the coven and its members. The romanticism of the whole vampiric lifestyle, the heavy make-up, the hot women in corsets.

Sex in coffins.

He chokes slightly as he imagines Beckett's waist cinched tightly in a black corset that enhances her chest, her slim fingers crawling slowly up his core, her heated palms mapping his hard biceps and tight abs, her velvety lips tasting his neck…

He inhales deeply, working hard to reign in his wildly active imagination, because in a setting like this, he could get carried away quite easily.

Quickening his pace, the writer manages to catch up to his muse, but stops abruptly beside the detective as he is stunned by the sight of Vixen sucking fervidly on the wrist of another woman - the scene both disturbing and incredibly sexy.

He can't help but wonder what it would feel like to wrap his ravenous lips around Beckett's wrist until she gasps with erotic pleasure… suck slowly on her pulse point, listening to her moan in ecstasy... draw his wet tongue sensually along the length of her arm, feeling the shivers run along her skin, intense fire heating her veins as her pulse races… taste her soft shoulder, her elegant throat, her exquisite jaw, her luscious mouth… Leaving his mark on her bod-

_WHOA! STOP!_ Too much… too much!

He releases a heavy exhale as he refocuses his mind.

God, this case is going to be the death of him.

* * *

That whole trip to The Den of Iniquity leaves Beckett shaking her head. How people can choose to involve themselves in that particular lifestyle is beyond her.

And the way Castle seemed to be enjoying the visit still confuses her. Either he found that excursion to be very inspiring or he knows something about subcultures that she doesn't.

"You know," she voices, entering the bullpen, the writer right beside her, "what is it with these people and their dressing up like vampires, the covens, the drama?"

"Well, it's not about the costumes or the make-up. A lot of the people who are committed to the fantasy are a little different," he responds. "They're just looking for a place to fit in."

Yeah. She understands that completely. Cosplay with some of the other Sci-Fi geeks during her freshman year at Stanford were some of happiest times of her life. _Nebula 9_ series marathons, trips to SupernovaCon conventions. She had been a bit lost in high school, a bit uncomfortable in her own skin. So much so that she tried to fit in with _everyone_ - a fruitless search for her own identity. Never wanting to be herself so much as wanting to meet other people's expectations of who she should be.

But when she went to college, it was a chance to start over. Forge her own identity.

And when she first saw Stephanie Fry appear on screen as the ship's kick-ass science officer, Kate realized that she didn't have to be anyone but herself - a Sci Fi-loving geek. She'd been looking for a place to fit in and she found it thanks to Lieutenant Chloe and a melodramatic, short-lived television show.

So she understands the desire to belong… but it's the fascination with the blood and the coffins that doesn't make sense in her mind.

"They probably had something happen to them when they were younger," the writer explains. "Maybe they saw their dog get hit by a car, attended an open-casket funeral. The loss of a childhood friend or parent…"

His words pierce her. Like a knife stabbing, twisting into her heart... slowly, painfully, torturously. She was finally becoming comfortable in her own skin, discovering who she was… and then January 1999 slapped her across the face and pushed her down a rabbit hole. A deep and dark chasm that swallowed her whole.

"Some people become vampires," he utters, weighing his words carefully, "some people become cops."

She lifts her eyes to meet his gaze for a split second. It should shock her how well he can read her, but it doesn't. The little flip of her stomach isn't uncomfortable for once. This time it's reassuring.

Comforting even.

She doesn't have a chance to respond, however, as the boys soon interrupt their conversation, bringing her the actual name of their victim: Matthew Freeman.

Observing the meditative staring in her eyes as she looks down at her phone, it's not lost on Castle just how pensive Beckett has become. "Are you okay?"

She's taken aback by how calm and gentle his voice is. "I- I hate this part," she stammers, forcing a pained smile. "It's the, uh, phone call that changes everything."

"I could stay, if you like," he offers, voice soft and sincere, almost as if he cares.

She looks up from her trance, meeting his gaze. "Oh, no. Thank you," she replies in kind. "Sometimes it's easier without an audience."

He understands. Nodding, Castle rises from his chair, heading to the break room. He considers making a coffee, but instead stands just inside the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching her from afar through the wire mesh surrounding the bullpen.

He silently observes her speak into the phone, her face emitting all of the empathy and compassion that he knows she's feeling.

He wonders how she does it. How she can make those phone calls - be the bearer of such devastating news day after day. How she fights for justice when she has never received any in return. How she can continue to do battle for those without a voice.

How she can be so extraordinary.

* * *

She spots her shadow in the conference room. He's completely engrossed in something - so focused. It's fascinating how the man can be so immature and so mature, fun-loving yet serious. He's quite the enigma, and not at all what she expected he'd be like after everything that had been splashed all over page six for so many years.

Striding into the room, she slides across the edge of the table, playfully knocking his feet from the surface onto the floor.

"Hot on the case, Castle?" she grins.

"On the case of a good read," he remarks, holding up Crow's graphic novel. "It's actually not bad."

Flipping through the pages, the two quickly realize that Crow's character of 'Morlock' is identical to their murder suspect, Morgan Lockerby.

"Vixen was right," Beckett mutters, leaning in closer to get a good look at the drawings, her head lingering just above his shoulder.

She's completely focused on this revelation until she hears Castle's heated whisper against her ear. "You smell like cherries."

Turning her head to look at him, her face inches from his, the delicious scent of his cologne suffuses her senses. Time slows to a crawl. Hazel eyes lock on cobalt blue as electricity jolts between them, a rush of shivers chasing down her spine. Her breath catches in her throat, her mouth suddenly very dry as her gaze shifts to his mouth. They're hypnotic - his lips. His soft, luscious, sumptuous lips. Lips that she'd like to taste right n-

"Hey, we got a hit on the…"

Ryan's voice snaps her back to reality _very _quickly. She straightens frantically, fixing her hair to mask her… her… her what? Discomfort? Because whatever that was… it was anything _but _uncomfortable.

_Shit._

"Are we interrupting something?" Esposito teases, following his partner into the room.

"Yes," the writer affirms, while Beckett is simultaneously adamant in her denial. "No."

"O-kay…" Ryan muses, his partner pursing his lips together in a concerted effort to withhold his impending laughter.

She'd slap the smug look off the Latino's face if she wasn't so flustered, the heavenly aroma of _him_ still hovering around her nose. "Wh- what'd you get a hit on?" she stammers, steeling herself in an attempt to calm her erratically racing heart.

Beckett clears her throat as Ryan hands her a file. He's speaking, but she only registers a few words because the only thing racing through her mind is, _"Holy shit!... What the fuck was that?!"_

* * *

Cherries.

She smells like _cherries_, for god's sake.

Is the Universe_ trying_ to kill him? Make him melt into a puddle on the floor of her car?

He sits quietly in the passenger seat of her cruiser as they head for the Lower East Side. She's not speaking, and he's unsure of what to say. There was a moment. He can't deny it. And from the way she gazed deeply at him, the way her eyes darkened as they flickered to look at his lips… he knows she felt it too.

The problem is that he has no idea what _it_ is. This quivering in his stomach, this tickle at the back of his throat, this clenching in his chest… he can't define it.

And the freaking scent of cherries is relentless, taunting him from the driver's seat. He tightens his grip on the graphic comic, trying to focus entirely on the artwork on the page.

Observe.

Look for clues.

Don't think about cherries.

He releases a relieved exhale as the car pulls up to the corner of Broome and Clinton.

He exits the car as quickly as humanly possible, not wanting to look like he's trying to escape, but needing to get out of the confines of the tight space.

His mind must be hazy - playing tricks on him - because he almost thinks that Beckett looks like she is frantic to get out of the car too.

* * *

"He bit me!" Castle repeats this statement for the umpteenth time as they ride up the elevator, voice panicked, hand clutching the side of his neck. "He freaking bit me!"

Beckett rolls her eyes as the doors slide open. "Yes, Castle… I _know_," she remarks.

"What if I turn?" he exclaims, wide eyed, as he follows her to her desk.

"You won't."

"How do you know?" he squeaks.

"Because he's not a vampire," she huffs.

Castle turns to face the conference room windows, straining to get a look at the bite mark via the reflection. "But he bit me!" he cries, desperation in his voice. "And... his skin… burning... in the light…"

"There must be a logical explanation for that, Castle," she sighs, trying to remain patient.

"Yeah, there is," Castle nods, turning to look at her. She looks up at him, bracing herself for his inevitable reply. "He's a vampire!"

Beckett narrows her eyes, unimpressed, about to retort when Lanie traipses towards her desk, medical bag in hand.

"Okay, Castle…" the M.E. remarks, not even slowing as she grips his arm and yanks him into the conference room, "let's have a look at the damage."

The sassy doctor plops him into a chair and unceremoniously shoves his head to the side so she can get a look at the wounded flesh. The writer says nothing, and Beckett enjoys the silence - unsure if it's brought on by fear of the bite or fear of Lanie. But either way, she's not complaining.

"Hey Lanie…" she quips from her desk, "while you're taking care of his neck, you wanna see if you can do something about his big mouth, too?"

But she doesn't quite catch Lanie's response because her mind suddenly flashes to the image of Castle's lips - lips that were so very close to hers an hour ago. Lips that she was so tempted to paint with hers.

And if it hadn't been for the boys interrupting…

_Shit._

* * *

She grins to herself as they drive to Daemon's apartment, unable to restrain her amusement as she thinks about how proud Castle was of being a grandfather… of an egg. How adorable he looked.

The egg.

The egg was adorable. Not Castle...

_Not Castle._

She shoots a quick glance at the passenger sitting beside her, the expression on his face best described as apprehensive and pensive. He turns his head to look at her, his mouth gaping slightly before he shuts it again, words hesitating on his tongue. After a brief moment, he does it again, forcing her to dig.

"What, Castle?" she asks firmly.

"It's nothing," he grits through his teeth, uncertainly in his voice.

She cocks her eyebrows, semi-surprised by his response. "Oka-"

"Senior party," he blurts, cutting her off.

"Huh?"

"You pulled your Jedi mind trick on me, and now I'm all…" He can't find the words, instead choosing to shake his hands in front of him hysterically.

She can't help but chuckle at his parental paranoia, but considering what she was like during her teens, she supposes his doubts are justified. But this is Alexis, and from what she has seen of the girl - especially after witnessing the red-head lambaste the writer a few weeks ago about a music teacher - she's certain Alexis will be fine.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Castle," the detective placates as she pulls up beside the apartment building. "She's got a good head on her shoulders and… from what I have seen, she's way more responsible than you."

She shoots him a teasing grin that he reciprocates as they walk towards the building's entrance, but there's no way she can leave it there.

Heading down the hall, she laughs quietly to herself, "Although..." He turns his head quickly to glare at her, wide eyed, as she continues her thought, "I do remember this one time-"

"Detective," a uniform greets her in the hall, interrupting her recollection. "They're in there," he points at the unit at end of the hallway.

"Thank you," she nods as Castle releases a frustrated sigh and heads towards the door. Staring at his back, she can't help but wonder what kind of taunting and disturbing images he may have concocted in his brain; how his overactive imagination might be causing him to freak out about what Alexis might get caught up in.

It's cute the way he worries about his daughter.

She hates to admit it, but his fatherly side is kind of a turn-on.

"Silver bullet?" he asks as he approaches the crime scene, looking down at the dead werewolf.

And there's the nine-year old again.

* * *

They're shuffling through the mound of news clippings and graphic art work that are scattered across the surface of the conference room table when Castle's cell begins to ring.

She smiles sheepishly as she watches him check the caller ID and quickly answer the phone.

"Hey, Alexis," he smiles, "how you doing? Everything okay?"

The detective sifts through the files in front of her as her stomach flutters a bit at the sound of his voice - how joyous and proud and loving it is when he speaks to his daughter. It's kind of nice to get to see this side of him every so often. Refreshing.

She steals a glance at the writer, but is taken aback by the serious concern flashing deep in his eyes.

"I'm on my way," he blurts, rushing out of the room without another word, leaving Beckett in stunned silence.

He sounded worried, but not panicked, so it probably wasn't something horrendous, but she can't help the overwhelming sensation of perturbation building in her core. She doesn't even know Alexis that well… so why does she feel so worried?

Shaking it off, Beckett returns her attention to the files strewn across the wooden surface. She reads over the articles about the mysterious murdered woman, examines a few more of Crow's drawings, but she can't seem to focus.

Checking her watch, she notes the late hour and opts to call it a night. Neatly stacking all of the papers, she freezes momentarily as she notices Alexis' egg baby still sitting on the end of the table. Pensively biting down on her lip as she gazes at Feggin, Beckett resumes her slow collection of the files.

Placing the stack of papers on her desk, she then opens her bottom drawer. A smile teases the edges of her lips as she finds her empty candy dish at the back of the drawer, sitting beside her little stick man. Grabbing the tiny bowl, she returns to the conference room. After carefully lining the dish with the kleenex, she gingerly places the egg inside its tissue nest.

"Time for bed," she smiles at Feggin, putting the dish down on her desk before heading out for the night.

It's unorthodox to say the least - her taking care of Castle's egg grandchild. Definitely not something she would have ever imagined herself doing.

* * *

She's not at her desk when he comes in, but Castle can't repress the adorable grin that lights up his face when he notices Feggin, sitting on the corner of her desk, cradled within a tissue-lined bowl. The thought of Beckett caring for the egg baby - that she bothered to make sure it was safe - washes him with warmth.

Settling into his chair, he slides Feggin a bit closer, then picks up the file off her desk to catch up on anything new in the case.

He's engrossed in what they've uncovered when her voice pulls him back. "Hey, Castle. Alexis okay?"

He watches her sit down, reading the genuine concern and care in her eyes. He can feel his heart enlarging within his chest.

"She's a... She's a smart kid," he ruminates, replacing the file on her desk. A calming fire rushes through his veins as she beams warmly at him, her eyes speaking volumes.

Reaching down, he gently holds up the delicate egg baby. "You... took care of Feggin," he notes, his tone implying both sincere appreciation and admiration.

He swears Beckett flushes slightly as he smiles graciously, eyes beaming at her.

"Yeah, well," she stammers lightly, "he was easy." He replies with a genial smile as she continues, "He didn't even fuss when I put him to bed."

Her eyes meet his and then dart away quickly, unable to hold their gaze. He loves to taunt and tease her, and push her buttons, but he loves this even more. It's adorable - how flustered she gets when he's sincere and earnest.

"Yo," Esposito remarks, the boys approaching her works space. "Ready for more tales of the weird and strangely odd?"

And moment gone.

Those two have such _great _timing...

* * *

Beckett can see the devastation weighing heavily on the poor man. To have your beloved wife murdered by your child's nanny, only to have her murder your son too. She's dealt with so many personal demons over the years, but she can't quite fathom this particular level of pain.

Leading Mr. Freeman out of the break room, she notes the sorrow in Castle's eyes as well as the young, grief-stricken Rosie Freeman leaps into her father's arms. Her now single father. Raising a teenage daughter. On his own.

A daughter who just lost her mother.

She glances over at the writer once again, unable to find any words. This one hits a bit too close to home… for both of them.

She approaches the sombre writer, her eyes asking the questions her mouth can't formulate.

"I hope this doesn't destroy her," he utters, voice sober and dark, as they watch the father and daughter exit the precinct.

"Will for a little while," she replies with a flat whisper, "and then one day she'll wake up and it'll just be a part of her life." They're both pensive for a brief moment, entering the bullpen, before she baits him. "Who knows, maybe she'll become a writer."

"Or a cop," he offers respectively.

She smiles, acknowledging his remark in the positive tone in which it was intended, as they both take a seat at her desk.

Getting serious for a moment, she brings her arms up to rest on the flat surface, lacing her fingers together. She leans in slightly, eyes fixed on her desk as she breaches the topic she's been curious about for quite a while.

"You know, you still haven't told me where your fascination with murder came from," she whispers, voice low and raspy.

So he weaves a tale of the loss of youthful innocence, drawing her in, the detective hanging on his every word… until he can no longer suppress the sly smirk from forming.

Her eyes narrow as she registers what he just did. "You made that up?"

"It's what I do!" he laughs gleefully.

"You know what?" she exclaims. "You are so getting it for that one."

But he doesn't give her an opening. "The party is at nine o'clock," he chuckles, rising from his chair. "I cannot wait to see what you're wearing."

And with the final words being spoken, he exits the bull pen, leaving her to ponder her retaliation. Because what he just pulled deserves something special.

A special brand of torture reserved only for him.

And she knows exactly what to do.

* * *

He can't believe she didn't show up. It's actually quite disappointing. Not that he actually expected her to show up in that slutty nurse costume -_ though he was kind of hoping_ - but he truly believed that she might make an appearance. If even for a few minutes.

But no… she didn't come.

Lost in thought as he hypnotically pets his fingers across the crown of his stuffed raven, he swivels quickly at the sound of a familiar, sultry voice behind him.

"Hey, Poe, looking for me?"

As Beckett approaches slowly - Lanie and the boys crowding his back - his heart sinks a bit as he notes a lack of costume or outfit.

"You're you," he states, obvious chagrin in his voice as his eyes skate over the long, black trench coat that's wrapped around her body.

"You sound so disappointed, Castle."

"I said costumes are mandatory. I mean, dress up. You know? Be a little scary," he pleads.

"Yeah, well," she breathes. "I was going for sexy."

He thinks he might stop breathing and drop dead at that very moment. Watching her slender fingers trace the edge of her belt, toy with the fabric, he feels his heart begin to pound wildly against his ribs. She came. She dressed up._ And_ she wore something salacious.

Maybe it's the nurse outfit?!

Oh. My. God. _Please be the nurse outfit!_

He can't stop staring at her waist, her long fingers moving agonizingly slowly - so much so that if she doesn't open her coat soon, he may just have to give her a hand… or two.

He swallows heavily as she continues to taunt him, his strong fingers unconsciously tangling around the neck the bird - wishing they were tangled instead in her hair… wrapping around the back of her head, pulling her in for a long, slow, kiss… his tongue exploring the darkest regions of her alluring mouth, inhaling the scent of cherries that wafts over her, allowing himself to melt into her and-

He jerks back, frantically jumping, as an alien worm unexpectedly pops out of her coat. Catching his breath, he glares at her in wide eyed shock.

"Now we're even," she smirks as if throwing out a challenge.

So that's how it's going to be, huh?

The writer offers her his stuffed raven. "I'm giving you the bird," he retorts, Lanie's raucous cackle echoing off the walls, but he doesn't hear it because his eyes are locked with Beckett's, silently accepting her challenge.

_'You wanna play? Let's play.'_

Oh yeah.

The fun is just getting started.

* * *

xxxxx

**If you'd like to know what I think Ryan and Esposito were up to during this episode, feel free to read my fic entitled "Crack in the Case"...The Boys v.s. The Egg.**

xxxxx

**So there you go… Judge away. :)**

**P.S. I'm going to be away for a bit, so I won't be posting another chapter for a bit longer than usual… but not too long, I hope.**

**A bientôt. :D**


	7. Famous Last Words

**EPISODE 7 - "FAMOUS LAST WORDS"**

He can see how Alexis' fear that Hayley Blue has, in fact, been killed is eating at her, tearing her apart.

"Look," Castle assures his daughter, "if there was any truth to it, I'm sure Detective Beckett would've called by now."

But isn't that always the way? The moment he finishes his sentence, his cell phone rings. Glancing briefly at the display on the phone, Castle immediately looks back at the girl in front of him. He reads the evident apprehension and anxiety written all over Alexis' face as he answers the call.

"Hello... Detective…" He simply listens to the voice on the other end of the line, trying very hard to school his features, give nothing away. Like the champion poker player he is. His eyes lock on those of his daughter as he absorbs Beckett's words.

"Mmm-hmm…" he acquiesces into the speaker as Alexis stares at him, leaning forward, wide-eyed and inquisitively anxious as she mouths _'What?'_ at her father.

"Okay… I'll meet you there," he states before ending the call.

"Was that about Hayley?" the red head asks, voice cracking.

"I- I don't know," he whispers softly, running his hand gently up the side of her arm as he attempts to comfort and soothe her.

"Dad…" she chokes, looking up at him, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

"She didn't say…"

He reads the pain in his daughter's eyes, glistening tears welling as she swallows, but no words exit her throat.

"I gotta go, Pumpkin…"

He watches her nod once, head hardly moving, before he releases her shoulder. As he turns to head for his bedroom, he stops in his tracks at the sound of her mousy voice. "Dad…?"

Pivoting to look back into his office, he's momentarily startled by the crushing weight of arms wrapped around his torso, small head tucked underneath his chin, tiny hands gripping the back of his black t-shirt, tears soaking through the cotton covering his chest.

She doesn't say anything - she just holds him as if she's holding on to life itself. He returns the embrace, pulling his daughter tight against his body, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "I know, sweetie," he coos softly. "I know."

* * *

Beckett is waiting for him at the mouth of the alley when he arrives.

"Everything okay?" she asks, lifting the police tape.

"Yeah," Castle affirms, ducking under the yellow ribbon, "why?"

"When I phoned..." she hums, leading the way as they approach the crime scene. "You just seemed so… uh… so..."

"So…?" he prods, not quite sure what she's trying to insinuate.

Her face scrunches slightly before she squeaks, "Not your typical wise-ass self..."

"Ah," he nods. He's quiet for a brief moment before clarifying. "Alexis… she heard news that her favourite singer might have been killed last night…"

She sighs understandably, face growing solemn. "And then I called…"

"And then you called," he reiterates half-heartedly, voice saddened at the thought of his daughter's sorrow.

Nothing more needs to be said when they meet Perlmutter at the base of the fire escape, staring up at the corpse which is hanging from the ladder. His heart plummets at the sight of the dead woman.

"Broken neck," the crass M.E. concludes. "At least that's my prelim. No wallet, no phone, no ID."

Castle finds his voice, but wishes that - for once - he didn't. "She doesn't need ID."

Perlmutter turns to face the writer. "You know her?" Castle simply nods in response, heart in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you sure it's her?" the detective asks.

"That's Hayley Blue," Castle confirms. "I took Alexis to see her band, The Blue Pill, last year…"

His eyes rake over the make-up covered face of the young singer as he wonders what happened to the unfortunate girl, but he doesn't really listen to the M.E.'s response as he can only think about Alexis.

He's only ever wanted to protect her… keep the rose colour on her glasses as long as possible. But now? He thinks about all the music artists and actors he loved as a teen, and how much it hurt when some of them died tragically.

For a man who lives by the written word, he begins to worry about finding the right ones to use to break this tragic news to his daughter.

* * *

Castle's quiet as her cruiser comes to a halt in its space in the precinct's underground parking. Beckett looks over at him, slightly concerned about his lack of cavaliere quips.

"You okay?" she asks as they enter the back elevator.

Castle releases a heavy sigh, eyes fixed on the floor numbers as the illuminate while the elevator climbs. "It's just…"

His voice stalls. Looking up to meet Beckett's sympathetic gaze, the writer tries again. "Alexis adores Hayley Blue. I just don't know how… what I'm supposed to tell her… what to say…"

Beckett nods understandingly as the doors slide open. He's been indirectly seeking her advice and opinion more often lately with regards to fathering a teenage girl - but she doesn't have his gift for language. She bites her tongue lightly before opening her mouth.

"The death of a favourite musician can be like losing a friend sometimes," she begins, Castle looking up at her light smile. "But I'm sure you'll find the right words, Castle…"

"Yeah," he exhales as they approach the Bullpen, "I hope so…"

She's at a loss. She's not sure what else she should say, but as they round the corner, Montgomery's voice breaks the uncomfortable silence.

"It's about time you got back," her Captain remarks, stepping out of his office. "We've got a very persistent citizen waiting to ask you some questions."

Beckett's heart clenches momentarily as Alexis follows Montgomery into the open space. She's seen the girl only on a few occasions thus far, but seeing Castle step into his parental mode always has a disarming effect on her. There's just something about him as a doting father that she finds undeniably adorable.

But thoughts of Castle's parental charm dissipate quickly as Alexis mentions that her victim might have had a drug problem. And the detective can't help but be amused by his parental paranoia.

"Ahhhh… Okay! You know what," Castle interrupts Alexis' statement. "I think it's time we reset the parental controls on your computer."

"Please," his daughter counters, sass lacing her words. "I had to set the parental control on your computer, remember?"

"Speaking of which-" the writer pleads, but is unable to complete his thought.

"No!" she cuts him off with a wave of the hand.

Beckett purses her lips together as she observes the exchange, trying to mask her amusement and slight discomfort. If Alexis is upset, she's hiding it very well behind her sarcastic bravado. A coping mechanism perhaps? The apple doesn't seem to fall far from the tree. Like father, like daughter.

However, the show ends quickly as Esposito draws their attention.

"Beckett."

"Yeah?" she pivots to face the Latino.

"Street was negative for cameras…."

He continues to fill her in on what he and Ryan have managed to uncover, and the detective has never been more thankful for one of their interruptions.

Father being parented by daughter - though amusing, always a bit awkward to witness.

* * *

Beckett re-holsters her glock as she watches Esposito callously shove Franco Marquez into the back of one of the police cruisers, slamming the door on Hayley's stalker.

She slows her pace as she approaches her Crown Vic, Castle standing behind the open passenger door, observing the action with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

"I can't believe it," she remarks dryly, garnering his attention.

"What?" he remarks curiously.

She doesn't answer, instead running her tongue along the inside of her cheek, deep in thought, as she looks back at the blue-haired suspect in the back of the police car.

"_What?"_ he presses, now completely wrapped around her little finger.

She looks over at him seriously, face betraying nothing. "I've never believed in miracles," she replies as she peels the bullet proof vest from her torso, his expression evidently still intrigued, "but I might have just witnessed one."

Castle doesn't follow, watching her round the back of the car. "Huh?"

Tossing her vest into the trunk, she sidles to the driver's side, opening the car door. She pauses momentarily, milking the moment to its fullest as she watches Castle's eyes bounce between the bus, the suspect and her. She can practically hear the gears of his brain grinding as he tries to figure out what it is she saw that he - inexplicably - missed.

He looks back at her, face asking what his mouth isn't. Her deadpan eyes meet his lost gaze before a light smirk teases the edges of her lips.

"You stayed at the car," she grins slyly as she sits down behind the wheel. "Will wonders never cease?"

She revels in the sound of Castle's exasperated exhale, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he climbs into the passenger seat.

"Ha. Ha. Okay, you got me," he states flatly as he closes the door.

Turning the key in the ignition, she gently bites the inside of her mouth to suppress the desire to enjoy a laugh at his expense.

Point: Beckett.

The writer remains quiet for about five minutes before she hears him say the words she's been fearing since they left the recording studio.

"My first car chase," he mumbles, a giddy smile forming, eyes beginning to twinkle.

She shoots him a no-nonsense stare. "Your last car chase."

"I think I handled myself quite well, detective," he grins playfully.

"Read my lips, Castle," she declares. "Never again."

"Never say never, detective," he replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "And if you think I'm only okay when going slow, let me assure you that I like going fast sometimes too…" he adds canting towards her, his voice deep and husky and suggestive.

Her stomach flips, hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel as she endeavours to quell her erratic heartbeat. Seriously? She had this guy wrapped around her finger and now she's trying ignore the fact that he smells _so good…_

She keeps her eyes locked on the road, steels her expression before she notices him leaning in closer. But he doesn't look at her - instead, he looks at the dash. Her eyes follow his, glancing at her speedometer.

"Apparently you like it fast too…" he smirks.

Before she can catch herself, her foot lifts from the gas pedal - which she'd been apparently pressing into the floor - the car's velocity slowing quite abruptly.

She can sense the heated stare of his eyes, the lust burning against the side of her face. He knows what he just did to her. And he knows she knows it too.

Crap.

* * *

Castle stares at the grunge guitarist as Beckett ends her phone call. This guy is such an arrogant, uneducated prick. Cease and resist letter? Seriously? Idiot.

"Hayley's sister is on her way to the morgue to identify the body," she remarks, glaring at Zack. "Don't leave town."

Following behind her as she returns to her cruiser, Castle can't resist adding, "But feel free to bathe."

He walks away, revelling in the fact that the guitarist is most likely still trying to glean what was being insinuated.

As Beckett backs out of the warehouse, Castle's eyes lock on the filthy, drug addicted musician. "What a douche," he mumbles, pulling out his cell phone. "I can't believe girls fawn over…" he waves his hand openly searching for an accurate adjective, "..._that."_

"It's a female thing," Beckett reasons, not really thinking about her words as she pulls into the flow of traffic. "Most girls find bad boys attractive."

Beckett quickly bites her tongue as she realizes what she just admitted to the bad boy writer, but heaves a silent sigh of relief as he seems to be focused on his phone. "I really hoped my daughter would have more sense than that," he mutters.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Sending a text to Alexis," he replies, eyes locked on his phone while his fingers fly across the key pad, "letting her know I met her idols." Returning his cell to its home inside the breast pocket of his jacket, he groans heavily.

"She liked Hayley, Castle. And the band's music," she reminds him, quickly steering the conversation in another direction. "Not Zack Metzger himself."

"Yeah," he breathes, "thank god."

She smiles softly to herself as she senses the man beside her relax a bit as he looks out the window to his right, evidently lost in thought as the hypnotic flashes of New York brownstones flash by. Father Castle is so refreshing.

They enjoy a comfortable silence for several minutes before the inquisitive and suggestive lilt of the author's voice fills the car once again. "So… detective?..." He turns to face her. "What do _you_ find most attractive in a bad boy?"

Crap.

* * *

Castle lifts his gaze from Alexis' laptop screen, processing what she just revealed about John McGinnis. About how he could profit from Hayley's death.

The wheels in his head are turning rapidly as his mother's voice breaks the silence. "Now, does that man look like a killer to you?"

"Everybody looks like a killer to me," the writer muses, deep in thought. "It's a job requirement."

"You didn't say that about Sky," Alexis teases.

"Just... let me have this moment," Castle stutters, legitimizing himself for a brief moment before he pulls his cell out of his pocket and dials a familiar number.

Wrapping his arm around his daughter's shoulders, Castle squeezes her against his side as the phone begins to ring.

_"Hey Castle,"_ Beckett's teasing voice echoes on the other end. "_Did Alexis crack and admit to killing Hayley?"_

"No such luck," the writer beams at his daughter as her blue, doe-like eyes stare back at him, evidently confused by his remark. "But I think I have a better suspect for you."

_"Reverting back to the Butler?"_

"Not this time," he grins. "I think it might be worth looking into John McGinnis, Hayley's former manager."

_"What makes you think that?"_ the detective wonders.

"Apparently she and McGinnis might not have been on the best of terms," Castle explains. Before she has a chance to reply, he adds, "Besides… he looks like a killer to me," winking at his daugher and hastily ending this call.

He grins slyly as he slides his phone in his pocket. What he wouldn't give to see Beckett's exasperated reaction right now.

Good thing he has a fantastic imagination.

* * *

_What the…?_ Castle and Beckett rush towards the back room of the band's warehouse just in time to watch a beer bottle leave Sky Blue's hand and fly across the room, smashing on the wall just above Zack's head.

The two fling insults at each other as the writer and the detective rush in, separating the fight.

"What did you do to her?!" Castle demands, violently turning Zack away from Sky, gritting his words through his tightly clenched teeth as he shoves the musician down into a ratty, orange club chair.

"Nothing, man! She attacked me!" the guitarist shouts defensively, fingers pointing wildly at Hayley's sister. "We were riffing on one of Hayley's songs. One minute, she's singing along, the next minute, she goes postal, starts telling me I'm stealing from Hayley! She's crazy!"

Castle feels his fist clenching, his body burning with rage. He can't believe the gall of this guy. This guy who wouldn't hesitate to hurt a young, defenseless woman… a young woman not that much older than Alexis. This asshole!

"It doesn't look good, Zack," he retorts firmly, accusatory, the heat and volume of his voice increasing incrementally as he stares down at the guitarist. "Beating up one Blue, killing another."

Zack starts to get up from the chair, insistent and frustrated and resistive. "Look," he shouts, "I already told you guys-"

"SIT DOWN!" Beckett slams back in his face as she rushes towards the offending man, growling as she bares her fangs and claws, finger pointed firmly at his face. "SIT!" Castle is stunned silent as he watches the guitarist falls back into the orange chair, hands up and open in defense. "Now talk," she demands.

Castle glares at Zack - eyes intense and piercing - as the guitarist pleads his case, protests his innocence. But as much as he is disgusted by the grunge musician, he's completed rapt by Beckett. The control and power. The commanding presence. The sheer dominance she has every time she faces off against the sleaze of society to defend the defenceless and give voice to the voiceless.

She is a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

Hearing the sniffling, Castle watches silently as Beckett moves to the back of her cruiser to find Sky curled in on herself, tears flowing freely from her eyes, streaks staining her cheeks.

Beckett crouches down beside the young woman, voice soft and gentle. "Hey."

"I was singing her words," Sky sputters, looking up at the detective, choking on the words as they crawl up her throat. "I could hear her voice. I could feel her like she was here."

Castle remains silent, listening to the sound of his own breathing mixing with theirs. He wants to be able to say something - do something - but his throat dries. He doesn't know the first thing about dealing with people who are suffering in this way.

He shifts his focus from Sky to Beckett, observing the pain and empathy swimming in the depths of her deep, dark eyes. He knows she has her own demons. Her own personal ghosts. But she pushes them down. Uses them to inspire the right words. The words Sky needs to hear. The truth.

"That's because your sister was strong," the detective whispers, voice tender and honest and sincere. "You thought that she was using again, but she wasn't. She was clean."

He remains silent as he watches Sky turn towards Beckett, reading the truth in the detective's face.

The women exchange no more words, allowing their eyes to communicate everything that words cannot. The shared pain of the loss of a beloved family member. Knowing what it is like to be haunted by her presence. The ghosts that stay with them in the words they speak. In the objects they treasure. In the air they breathe.

Beckett holds her hand out, extending it, opening it up, inviting Sky to take hold. To allow someone to help her up… to help her up in every way. He watches Sky look at Beckett's outstretched palm for several deafening minutes before she finally, hesitatingly, reaches up from her cocooned position and grips Beckett's hand with her own.

Beckett nods demurely, a slight expression of understanding and support crossing her face, as she slowly rises from her crouched position, helping the broken and distraught young woman to her feet.

Sky says nothing, but just looks Beckett in the eye one last time before turning around and heading off on her own.

Castle can do nothing, say nothing… he simply watches. Observes how Sky went from being completely broken to being willing to be rebuilt in a matter of moments and through so few words.

He'd always knew Beckett was extraordinary.

What he didn't realize was just how extraordinary she truly is.

And watching her slide into the driver's seat of her car, he thinks he probably never will.

* * *

Returning to the warehouse, they find Sky in a dark corner, shivering and stuttering and doused in sweat. Castle and Beckett rush to her side, terrified that she relapsed, but Sky holds out her hand, a wad of cash crumpled within her grip.

"I'm clean," the girl stammers. "She's gonna help me, right? Wherever she is, she's looking out for me, right?"

Beckett crouches down, smiling at Hayley's sister, proud that she was able to slay her demons. "She's already doing it."

"Come on," Castle reaches down to help her stand. "Let's get you out of here."

Helping Sky into the back of her car, Beckett and Castle rush the young woman to the nearest hospital.

As Beckett and one of the nurses accompany Sky to a room, Castle turns to the young man working behind the admitting desk.

"She's going through hell right now," the writer explains as he completes the information form. "Whatever she needs to get better, make sure she gets it." The young man nods, taking the form from Castle.

The young man looks over the paperwork to ensure it's completed correctly as Beckett returns.

"She's asleep," the detective remarks, reading the concern on Castle's face. "The doctors assure me they'll look after her."

Walking side by side as they exit the hospital, Beckett quietly mutters, "I have no idea how she's going to pay for this…"

"She won't have to," Castle whispers as he opens the car door.

Beckett looks up at him, curious.

"I wrote my address in the billing section," he explains softly as he climbs into the car, no sense of hubris or pride at all in his tone.

The detective remains standing for a moment, absorbing his words. He might be an immature jack-ass most of the time, but sometimes…

Sometimes there's a wonderful, warm, caring, loving, generous, selfless man that emerges.

Sometimes he surprises her.

A mystery she's never gonna solve.

* * *

Beckett smiles as she watches Castle head towards the elevator. Hayley Blue's killer is in custody. Sky Blue is recovering well.

And Castle…

She watches him stop in his tracks, pause, and pivot, returning to her desk.

"Come with me?..." he asks gently, standing toe to toe with her, cobalt blue tenderly peering into dark hazel.

Beckett is confused for a brief moment before she has her epiphany. She nods once with a smile that lights up her eyes, grabbing her scarf and coat off the back of her chair. "Let's go."

After picking up Martha and Alexis at the loft, the four head to Alphabet City for the outdoor memorial concert. There's already a large crowd gathered around the stage, the sound of Sky Blue's voice floating in the night air.

Picking up their candles, Martha and Alexis light theirs off of Castle's flame. He then turns towards Beckett, holding up his candle, the flame flickering in the light breeze. The glow of the soft light dances in his eyes as she looks up at him, smiling warmly, her pulse beginning to match the rhythm of the drum beat in the background.

Time slows as she silently reads over the volumes of his face, the warmth in his eyes.

"Dad?'

The silky voice of his young daughter wakes her from her hypnotic reverie… and apparently him as well. She shoots him a gentle smile before lighting her own candle - using his flame - the metaphoric action not lost on her.

But she quells the fluttering in her heart as she follows Castle and his daughter to meet Martha near the stage.

As Sky begins to sing her sister's lyrics, Beckett really hears them for the first time.

"_People change… and instantly…_

_I'm not the same girl I used to be._

_I can't erase all the memories,_

_But I can explain if you're listening…"_

With Castle standing beside her - arms lovingly wrapped around his daughter - Beckett can't help but feel an ethereal glow of happiness from alighting inside.

She didn't even see it happen, but it did.

She's changing.

She's changing.

* * *

xxx

**Due to the father-daughter nature of this episode, it was a bit more of a challenge to find the Caskett-y filler moments, but I think it worked out.**

**As always, typos belong to me. *le sigh***

**So there you go... Judge away. ;)**


End file.
